

Class 7. 5 

Book . T1 "| 4-56 C 

Coipght N° 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 










THE CLIENT 


A Novel 


by 

SHERMAN MILLWOOD 





PHILADELPHIA 

September, 1904 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS} 

Two Copies Received I 

NOV 7 1904 

CopyrifffK tmry f 

Cw-A.-Isl 

CUKA' XXc, Noi 

COPY B. 


2 



Copyright, 1904, By 

THE AUTHOR 


Preface 


The preface to this story is not intended to be 
apologetic, but that it should be somewhat explana- 
tory is considered advisable. Public sentiment in 
matters of morality is often misguided because it is 
unreal. It is thus as a matter of common honesty 
unworthy, and as it is unworthy it should be con- 
demned. 

Fire is sometimes the only successful agency that 
can be used in fighting fire ; also when a mechanic 
tries to regulate the flow of a congested sewer, he 
feels that excuses would be ridiculous, and that the 
end justifies the means. 

It was not without some feelings of repugnance 
that the author in writing this narrative took up 
certain portions of his task. There is much that 
with regret he left unsaid, and much that he has 
said he would have gladly omitted. In telling the 
truth, he has aimed to be explicit enough only to 
convey the desired effect. He has not sought to 
create new problems in this world of guesswork, but 
has earnestly endeavored to solve an old one. He 
does not seek to justify his views, save by the argu- 
ment presented in this narrative, and would rather 
suffer his words to be misinterpreted than to submit 
harsh proofs of their truth at the expense of what 
are ofttimes the misdirected efforts of humanity to 
be good. 


4 


Preface 


From those who by inheritance or self-discipline 
have minds that master all emotions, or from those 
with weak minds and weaker emotions, the writer 
expects only criticism and abuse. He accords 
them this privilege by recognizing a law of nature 
in the creation of life. If the charity he accords to 
human frailty is misleading in its moral influence ; 
if the severity with which he criticises the Pharisee 
is wrong, he would only note that these attitudes of 
forbearance and justice are common to the hearts of 
many men, and that at the dawn of Christian history, 
misguided public sentiment caused the death on the 
Cross of One, who thus taught them mercy for err- 
ing mortals, and whose social position on earth was 
not impaired thereby, save in the minds of those 
who crucified Him. But from those who have 
sounded the depths and shoals of human frailty, and 
whose senses have been so attuned to nature that 
their gratification or repression has made this life to 
them a heaven or a hell, he expects only sympa- 
thy and gratitude. In Divinely created, but Satan 
seduced, man he has sought to disintegrate his dual 
nature and to draw a perceptible dividing line be- 
tween the influences of love and lust. Keenly re- 
alizing how utterly futile are the influences of Chris- 
tian morality in regulating the lives of a vast propor- 
tion of humanity, he has endeavored to reveal to 
them the inexorable laws of nature in an argument 
which appeals only to the senses, and that higher 
intelligence which ever seeks ideals. 


Introduction 


On a stormy afternoon in February Ambrose 
Pierce sat alone in his office in Clifton Street. 
Tilted back in his chair, his feet crossed, and resting 
upon a desk that was littered over with legal docu- 
ments and books of law, he intently watched the 
thin wreaths of blue smoke that rose toward the 
ceiling from a partly consumed cigar. 

In deep thought, and oblivious to the storm that 
raged without, the alternate lights and shadows that 
appeared and disappeared upon his usually sombre 
face were indications of that chief attribute of a suc- 
cessful lawyer — versatility — if nothing more. For 
Ambrose Pierce was a lawyer and at one time had 
been successful and prominent in his profession. 
He was forty-three years of age, and in appearance 
was not pleasant to look upon. Over six feet tall ; 
angular, raw boned and irregular features, a high 
retreating forehead indicative of powerful but slow 
perception ; a massive jaw ; small deep sunken eyes, 
dull and expressionless in repose, but which when 
lighted by the fire of passionate energy were capa- 
ble of expressing the deepest emotion a human 
heart can feel. These unprepossessing characteris- 
tics were partially offset by a profusion of dark au- 
burn hair and moustache, slightly streaked with 
gray ; a well formed mouth and white regular teeth. 
In fact there were some people who thought Am- 


6 


Introduction 


brose Pierce good-looking when he smiled. He 
was habitually slow motioned and awkward, but 
when roused to action these faults seemed but to 
intensify his deadly earnestness and impetuous fas- 
cination. He was careless in his dress, but method- 
ical, systematic and accurate in business. He pos- 
sessed a selective memory, almost infallible in its 
accuracy; a gift of perception so intense in its 
penetration that his first impressions were almost 
invariably correct. Fair and just to his clients in a 
practice extending over a period of ten years, he 
had never prosecuted a case that could not be won 
and had never lost a case that could be won, but he 
was now an unpopular lawyer, and unsuccessful be- 
cause unpopular, though superficially there were no 
apparent good reasons for his lost prestige. 

As a high spirited romantic and imaginative boy 
of sixteen, whose chief amusement was the con- 
struction of air castles, he had been at this early 
age thrown upon his own resources, and in the rude 
awakening that followed he was soon forced to real- 
ize that a seven roomed house was really a great 
problem. This serious phase of his life was accen- 
tuated by the fact that though he possessed a good 
common school education his real education began 
when he closed his school-books. It was then his 
experience to secure employment with a man who 
in business was severely practical, and also a past 
master in questionable business methods. This 
man, brilliant, sagacious and with a magnetic per- 
sonality, in a period of ten years so influenced and 
moulded the youthful mind of Ambrose that in a 
mental sense he was to a great extent recreated. 
On leaving this employer, it was again his expe- 


Introduction 


7 


rience to be associated for several years with a man 
quite notorious as a plunging promoter, who also 
taught Ambrose all he knew. 

At last when near thirty years of age he parted 
for good from these adepts in business trickery, the 
law, without reflecting upon it as a profession, 
seemed to afford a natural and lucrative opening 
for his ambition and ability. 

After a few years of study he was admitted to 
the bar, and though he had been taught and almost 
believed that business honor defined meant respect 
for the law, he still felt an inherent sense of justice 
and equity for his fellow man, that now responsible 
to himself alone he used with discretion and care, 
both to his business advantage and his self-respect. 

As a lawyer he had realized from many bitter 
experiences in the past that his natural indolence 
and slow perception were the greatest barriers to 
success in a vocation where ready wit and quick 
intuition were of vital importance. So as a matter 
of course it followed that in a determined effort 
to overcome this failing his brain became abnor- 
mally active and his gift of penetration correspond- 
ingly acute. In almost every phase of his business 
he could correctly anticipate what would be said 
and done, and so in court was ever ready for attack 
or defense. In his arguments he possessed a per- 
sonal magnetism that was irresistible. He used no 
gestures, but depended on the attitude of his body, 
the expression of his eyes, and the carefully modu- 
lated cadences of a charming voice that lulled the 
senses to repose and forgetfulness of right or 
wrong, and then with repressed intensity swept 
away all opposition and established conviction in 


8 


Introduction 


the place of doubt and uncertainty. In reality he 
fought his cases, he did not plead them. He always 
insisted that his clients should tell him the truth and 
not to misrepresent the facts of a case. The fact 
that he scarcely ever hesitated to tell the truth to 
his clients showed a deliberate carelessness in mat- 
ters of business discretion. On one occasion a lady 
had called to retain him in a suit against her hus- 
band for desertion. In telling her story the real 
facts were quite apparent to the lawyer, and though 
she claimed to be a suffering martyr as a result of 
her husband’s conduct, Ambrose told her that the 
reason she was a martyr was because she deserved 
to be one. 

On another occasion one of his clients, a wealthy 
man whose real estate interests were very extensive, 
had asked him to foreclose a small mortgage which 
he held on a valuable property owned by a man 
who at the time was in serious financial trouble, by 
reason of his brother’s failure in business, and also 
sick in bed with typhoid fever. The client felt that 
this would be an excellent chance to secure a valu- 
able property, but his smile as he so expressed him- 
self met with no response from Ambrose, who 
replied that he was conscientiously opposed to 
taking blood money, but that he would observe his 
client’s wishes ; after saying which he deliberately 
postponed action in the matter until the unfortunate 
debtor was able to protect himself and save his 
home. 

Ambrose was next elected to the legislature, but 
like all politicians who successfully aspire to office 
he had to go under the fence instead of over it. As 
a candidate he was ostensibly the champion of the 


Introduction 


9 


people's rights, but in reality he was bound by strict 
obligations to work for the interests of a rich cor- 
poration who desired a valuable state franchise, the 
gift of which would be inimical to the public wel- 
fare. As a candidate Ambrose worked hard, made 
many speeches and was elected. When the fran- 
chise in question came up for consideration he 
promptly voted against it, and when the corporation 
desiring the franchise, and which had spent con- 
siderable money to elect him charged him with 
breaking his promise he said with his most amiable 
smile, “ It is true I made a few promises to you. In 
fact they were positive promises, but in the speeches 
I made to the people on many occasions I repeat- 
edly pledged myself to work for their best interests. 
In satisfying my conscience as to this particular 
matter I felt that I should sin less in breaking my 
promises to you than in breaking those I had made 
to thousands of men who voted for and elected 
me." 

His career as a politician was thus virtually ended, 
though he subsequently was appointed as judge 
of a criminal court and served a term of three years. 
While on the bench many of his decisions were ad- 
versely commented on, and on several occasions he 
was severely criticised. One decision in particu- 
lar aroused a storm of public criticism. Several 
wretched girls, social outcasts, were arrested and 
brought before him. They were young and at- 
tractive, but poorly dressed. With tear-stained 
faces they told the judge that they were willing to 
work, but were homeless and starving and had 
begged for help. The judge asked the officers to 
produce the man or men who were responsible for 


IO 


Introduction 


their dishonor, and as this could not be done he 
discharged them. The criticism he received for 
this action from bodies of society women was espe- 
cially severe and merciless, and the degree of their 
condemnation, aided by a subservient press, seemed 
only to be measured by the distance that good for- 
tune and discretion had removed them from the 
possibility of a fate similar to that of the miserable 
creatures whom they thus indirectly persecuted. 
To all this Ambrose disdained to make any reply 
save to remark that when the great Nazarene was on 
earth, He, in His treatment of fallen women had 
given the world a precept it well might follow. As 
a judge he also recommended the regulation of cer- 
tain vices by secret service law. He contended 
that bad people washed were better than bad people 
dirty, and that the bath-tub properly used was use- 
ful in cleaning souls as well as bodies. He objected 
to the washing of soiled linen in the columns of the 
daily press. He said that the most severe and un- 
fair judge of sinners was the man or woman who 
had reformed for business reasons. He said the 
world was bad enough, and that misguided morality 
should not be allowed to get on a pedestal with the 
only result of making it worse. He said that the 
public health morally and physically was of more 
importance than the public conscience. He did 
not mean to say, “ what is the use of trying to be 
good ? ” — but he did think a man was a fool who 
tried to sweep back the ocean waves with a broom. 
These radical views caused his retirement from the 
bench, and as he returned to private life and re- 
sumed his practice of law, he sadly realized that 
though advanced ideas were essential to the develop- 


Introduction 


1 1 

ment and progress of a nation they were as a rule a 
barrier to success individually. 

Ambrose Pierce had married at the age of thirty- 
three. Always an admirer of beauty, he had chosen 
for a wife a plain honest girl of respectable family, 
and who throughout all their wedded life had faith- 
fully loved him, though no children had blessed 
their union. In marrying her he had tacitly 
obeyed the teachings of his former cold-blooded 
business preceptors ; that in selecting a wife a man 
should observe the same business judgment that 
he would use in buying a horse. He had succeeded 
so admirably in this business phase of the matter that 
the sentiment of the honeymoon was quickly dis- 
pelled, and from then up to the time this narrative 
begins, the business rules that dominated him as a 
lover had thoroughly influenced his conduct as a hus- 
band. He was of course unhappy, and fully realized 
the cause, but he had reached a mature age without the 
power to make or retain friends, and we can readily 
understand why, for with the exception of his wife’s 
pure love the only emotions he seemed to inspire 
in others were those of fear or fascination, so that 
to the world and in himself he was living and had 
lived an involuntary dual life. 

He could not separate in himself the inherent 
attributes of God, given him by Christian birth and 
training as a boy, when these qualities had been so 
repressed by master minds dominating his very 
existence, that he sometimes felt honestly justified 
in questioning his mental parentage. These ideas 
of Ambrose were not illusions, their affects upon 
him were plainly perceptible, but never understood. 
While he disdained to acknowledge fashions or 


12 


Introduction 


social forms, there were many times when he 
showed a courtly knowledge of both. When he 
felt so disposed his polite affability was intensely 
fascinating and winning. He was considered by 
many to be a dangerous man ; for action to him 
meant accomplishment. He never worked save 
when he knew he could win and was never known 
to acknowledge defeat. He was slow to be con- 
vinced, but his convictions could not be changed. 
He did not believe in trying to solve the abstruse 
problems of the universe, save through natural 
laws, and looked through nature for nature’s God. 
Beyond this he questioned the Infinite alone. 

Two forces forever at war in his breast, had by 
constant clashing, so intensified his powers for good 
or evil that he felt alternate sensations of bliss or 
horror, as with trembling heart he stood at the 
portals of light and darkness and felt that he was 
privileged to seek in either realm for ideal life. 

And so on this stormy winter day, as the hero of 
our story is thus introduced to the reader we find 
him in idle meditation, vaguely pondering with feel- 
ings misanthropic and almost agnostic on his past, 
his present, and his future life. Living beyond his 
time he seemed worldly wise in his knowledge of 
humanity to the limit of human intelligence. He 
felt that if the world mocked and starved some men 
while living and crowned them when dead, the 
ridicule and the crown were alike valueless ; so, to 
him, this is a sad and dangerous hour ; for with his 
lost prestige as a lawyer and consequent financial 
troubles, he remembers only his wife as he realizes 
that he has reached the parting of the ways. 


Contents 


I. The Lawyer at Work 15 

II, The Lawyer at Home 29 

III. Mrs. Weedahl and Her Business 

Methods 42 

IV. A Friend in Need 53 

V. In Which the Author Refuses to Ad- 

mit That “ The Cloud Looks Like a 
Whale” as a Matter of Deference 
to My Lord Public Opinion .... 69 

VI. Playing With Fire 76 

VII. The Candle and the Moths . . . . 97 

VIII. Detectives Amateur and Professional 116 

IX. Relative to Visitors Who Were Wel- 
come and to Others Who Were Not 136 

X. The Sheriff is Enlightened and Am- 
brose is Entertained 158 

XI. The Unbidden Guests 178 

XII. In Which Misguided Public Sentiment 
Reaches the Lowest Stages of De- 
pravity, and in Which the Author 
Again Risks Offending it by Telling 
the Truth 201 


Contents 


H 

XIII. Mr. Grill Loses His Temper and Am- 

brose Very Nearly Loses His Wife . 238 

XIV. The Parting of the Ways 263 

XV. Mrs. Weedahl Advises Annette . . . 286 

XVI. The Vale of North wood 302 

XVII. Conclusion 317 


The Client 


CHAPTER I 

THE LAWYER AT WORK 

The howling of the storm without and the chilly 
temperature of his office at length roused Ambrose 
from his reverie. He placed his benumbed feet 
upon the floor and turning in his chair noted that 
his wood-fire was smouldering embers. He placed 
some well dried hickory wood upon the andirons 
and drawing a chair in front of the fireplace fanned 
the embers until a bright fire crackled and glowed 
therein. This firelight caused flickering shadows 
to assume fantastic shapes upon the walls and 
ceiling of the large, darkened room, and brought 
into strange relief the many oil paintings and steel 
engravings of old time judges and ecclesiastics in 
wig and gown, whose faces sombre and grim in the 
broad light of day seemed to take on grotesque ex- 
pressions of merriment, as the firelight paled and 
shone. Several pedestals and bracket shelves also 
were repositories for time worn busts of old masters 
of legal lore. Ambrose had devoted considerable 
time and much good taste in his collection of these 
reproductions of ancient celebrities, and a number 
of large bookcases well filled with the best works 


i6 


The Client 


on subjects of instructive value to him pro- 
fessionally, gave to his “ workshop ” as he called it 
an impression of the “ law’s majesty ” ; that to his 
clients Ambrose always intensified or promptly dis- 
pelled according to the merits of their respective 
causes. 

In a smaller room adjoining, a pale faced young 
man about twenty-five years of age was busily 
engaged in preparing from shorthand notes the 
defense that Ambrose was to make in a murder 
case that had been set for trial at a date now near 
at hand. This young man in his character and 
habits reflected in some degree the master mind that 
dominated him. Knowing everything he knew 
nothing, and his master’s clients in their impatience 
to obtain information from him were often angered 
and disgusted by his slow non-committal answers to 
their inquiries, and by his apparent stupidity and 
ignorance. 

A lull in the storm and the clicking of the type- 
writing machine under Adolph’s expert fingers 
attracted the attention of Ambrose, who going in to 
him gave some notes and instructions ; then walk- 
ing to the window and putting his hands in his 
pockets he looked out upon the storm. In the 
street below were a few pedestrians carefully pick- 
ing their way on the icy pavements, and whose 
umbrellas but partially shielded them from the sleet 
and wind. The branches of the trees were bending 
and cracking with their icy load, and occasionally 
when struck by an unusually hard blast would break 
and fall to the ground. 

“ A beastly day,” muttered Ambrose ; “ surely if 
my fair client who desires a divorce comes here on 


i7 


The Lawyer at Work 

a day like this it will be safe to assume that she 
means business. Don’t you think so, Adolph ? ” 

Adolph, thus interrogated, looked up and replied, 
“ Yes, sir, if in coming here to-day she chooses the 
least of two evils, we can consider it a fact that her 
husband is a bad one.” 

“ In her coming here to-day, or her failure to come, 
there are a great many other deductions we might 
naturally make regarding her,” said Ambrose. “ All 
women are alike in matters of caprice and uncer- 
tainty, but where their hearts are deeply concerned 
they are open books to all who care to read them. 
If this woman comes to-day we can assume at once 
that she either loves her husband or she fears him, 
and it will be an easy matter to determine this ques- 
tion. Of course my decision to take her case or 
reject it will depend upon my deductions in the 
matter after talking to her. If I feel that she loves 
her husband I will take her case. If she loves 
another man, I won’t.” 

“ You think then, sir,” said Adolph, “ that if she 
loves another man you would rather have her hus- 
band for a client? ” 

“ Precisely,” said Ambrose, who seating himself 
at his desk picked up a pale blue delicately scented 
envelope and drew therefrom his prospective client's 
note of appointment. 

“ A, B, C,” said Ambrose referring to the mono- 
gram at the top of the page, and he smiled grimly. 
“ No, no, the woman never lived who was so plain, 
so easily understood.” The note read as follows : 

“ Judge Pierce, 

“ My Dear Sir: I write you at the suggestion 


i8 


The Client 


of Mrs. Weedahl, who is, I believe, a client of yours, 
and who has spoken favorably of you as a lawyer. 
I wish to secure a divorce from my husband, and 
will call upon you Thursday afternoon at 3:30 
o’clock for the purpose of consulting you in regard 
to this matter. As I am totally unknown to you I 
desire by this letter to introduce myself, and at the 
same time to request of you the strictest privacy for 
our interview. If the day and hour I have named 
should not suit your convenience, kindly advise me 
at once and appoint another time. 

“ Very truly yours, 

“ Annette B. Caldwell. 

“ P. S. Please do not mention to any one but 
Mrs. Weedahl the nature of my business with you. 

“ A. B. C ” 

Ambrose smiled as he placed the letter in its en- 
velope. “ Poor woman,” said he. “ As is often the 
case in a woman’s letter, the postscript conveys its 
greatest meaning. One thing is certain, she either 
loves her husband or she fears him. She evidently 
knows but little of Mrs. Weedahl or myself. She is 
far from being ready to burn the bridges behind her. 
In the mind of almost anybody else Mrs. Weedahl’s 
endorsement of me would be tantamount to a con- 
viction of all that is bad, but bah ; what difference 
does it make ? Fame — good or bad is often like 
life insurance — a game at which we must die to win.” 

The hall door of the room adjoining opened and 
closed, and Adolph entered his master’s room bear- 
ing a card. “ Mrs. Caldwell,” said he. Ambrose 
motioned for him to place a chair opposite his desk 
and in such a position that when the lady talked 


19 


The Lawyer at Work 

with him the strongest light would be thrown upon 
her face. These preliminaries duly attended to, 
Ambrose arose from his chair as Mrs. Caldwell en- 
tered the room. 

“Judge Pierce?” she said, inquiringly. 

“ Yes, madam,” said Ambrose. “ Be seated, 
please, or let me suggest first that you remove the 
cloak you have on, which seems very wet.” 

“ Thank you,” said she, as Ambrose assisted in 
removing the wrap and hung it on a chair before 
the fire. 

“ If you don’t mind, I will sit by your cheerful 
fireplace a minute. I am nearly frozen.” A plain- 
tive smile appeared on her face as she said this, and 
as Ambrose placed a chair for her close to the fire, 
she seated herself, and with a shiver extended her 
hands and feet toward the genial warmth. Ambrose 
noted her movements with respectful admiration, 
and his interest in her, inspired by first impressions, 
was intense. She was perhaps thirty years of age. 
She was not strictly beautiful, but there was a charm 
about her that was almost instantaneously and de- 
lightfully perceptible to his every sense. She was 
above the medium height, graceful and well formed. 
Her luxuriant brown hair disarranged by the storm 
fell in picturesque confusion about a face that was 
remarkable for its sweetness of expression and con- 
sistency with her charming voice and smile. Am- 
brose had always been a critical admirer of physical 
beauty in women, but never before had he realized 
the many charming attributes that nature could lav- 
ishly bestow in its mature perfection. In his crit- 
ical observation of some men and women he had often 
thought that nature in creating them had hesitated 


20 


The Client 


too long before deciding upon their sex, but in 
his fair client he sacrilegiously thought that nature 
had deliberately planned and created a daughter of 
Eve whose charms were possibly greater than those 
of her ancestral mother, and whose virtue perhaps 
was less questionable. As she sat gazing at the fire 
her face in repose had a somewhat wan and hard 
expression, and she seemed for the moment forget- 
ful of her surroundings, but she presently turned 
toward Ambrose and said with another smile, “ You 
did not expect me to-day, did you? Now con- 
fess,” said she, as Ambrose essayed to reply. “ You 
think I am in a bad fix to come here to talk divorce 
on a day like this. Well, I am in serious trouble,” 
and Ambrose noted the unshed tears in her eyes. 

“ Come,” said he, “ if you feel sufficiently warmed, 
take this chair here by my desk and tell me about 
it.” 

“ Now,” said she, as Ambrose with pencil and tab- 
let prepared himself to note the essential features 
of her statement. “ My name is Annette Borden 
Caldwell. My husband’s name is Richard Ainsley 
Caldwell, and we have been married a little more 
than nine years. We do not reside in this city, but 
at Raleigh, which you know is twenty-three miles 
from here. My husband is sheriff of Prescott 
County. He is quite well known as a politician, 
and recently he has become well known in connec- 
tion with a case that does not relate to politics at 
all. He is very much in love with another woman, 
and ” 

“You said in love,” said Ambrose, interrupting 
her. “ Does his conduct toward you indicate that his 
feelings for her are those of love or infatuation ? ” 


21 


The Lawyer at Work 

“ Why, I don’t believe that he loves her. I think 
it is simply infatuation. Before I discovered his 
perfidy he gave me everything I asked for; and 
when I asked for an explanation of his generosity 
he said he was squaring himself with his conscience, 
that was all he would say.” 

“ And since you discovered his perfidy?” 

“ Well, since then he has given everything to her, 
and tells me to get out.” 

“ But up to the present time you have been care- 
ful not to get out.” 

“ Only once, and then he put me out, but I went 
back immediately.” 

“ He seized you and forcibly put you out of the 
house ? What did he say at the time he did this, 
and who else was present ? ” 

“No other person was present at the time, but he 
said, * get out and stay out/ and swore at me.” 

“ What had you said or done to provoke this 
action on his part ? ” 

“ I had told him that I would not stand his con- 
duct toward me, and that unless he reformed I 
would leave him.” 

“ Did he strike you ? ” 

“ No, but he hurt me by the rough manner in 
which he grasped my arm and pushed me about.” 

“ Now,” said Ambrose, noting with his pencil, as 
he spoke. “ Your husband forcibly put you out of 
the house, swore at you, and told you to get out 
and stay out ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

At the request of Ambrose his client then made 
a statement in regard to the property possessed by 
her husband and his yearly income. She also told 


22 


The Client 


him that her husband was a well known club-man ; 
that she had married him after an acquaintance of 
less than two months ; and that his neglect of her 
had begun in less than a year after their marriage. 

In response to the lawyer’s suggestions and 
pointed questions the sad truth was revealed that 
her husband was a heartless scoundrel, but that her 
fidelity for him was still unquestioned. After all 
these matters had been gone over in detail, Am- 
brose felt that she still loved her husband, and 
under this impression he also understood that her 
statements as to his misconduct had been in no 
way exaggerated, but that she showed a disposition 
to excuse his brutality. He had already decided 
that her case was a worthy one, but for the apparent 
lack of competent witnesses it would not do for him 
to be precipitate in legal action. He also felt that 
by reason of this important obstacle and her evident 
reluctance to tell the whole truth, that he was as her 
lawyer in duty bound both by question and com- 
ment to arrive at such an understanding of the en- 
tire state of affairs between them that he could make 
such intelligent deductions and inferences as would 
properly guide him in his successful prosecution of 
the case. 

“ Now, Mrs. Caldwell,” said he, “ it is patent to 
me as well as to you that your husband’s love for 
this woman, like many other cases of so-called affec- 
tion, is not an emotion that would stand in any de- 
gree the analysis that respectability would make ; 
but though his infatuation will undoubtedly be 
short-lived, it is for you only the beginning of the 
end. It is useless for you to delude yourself with 
the hope, which I feel you secretly entertain, as to 


23 


The Lawyer at Work 

his reformation. You see, he has for many years 
practiced this deception toward you ; and now his 
contempt for your wifely forbearance finds expres- 
sion in almost an open violation of his marriage 
vows. If it is not this woman it will be some one 
else, and further efforts on your part to do your 
duty as a wife will not only subject you to worse 
cruelty from him, but will forfeit for you the respect 
of all your friends. I fully understand your per- 
sonal feelings in the matter, but as far as your finan- 
cial helplessness is concerned leave that to me. 
We will force him to provide for you. You must 
go home to him, and stay there, but only until I tell 
you to leave. Your case is a worthy one, but you 
are sadly in need of competent witnesses, and evi- 
dence outside of your own statement we must ob- 
tain as quickly as possible. I am only your lawyer, 
and in that capacity my duty toward you is a plain 
one, but your helplessness inspires me with a feeling 
of pity which prompts me to speak also to you as a 
man. So forgive me if my interest in your case is 
suggestive of advice in this respect as well.” 

“ Oh, sir,” said his client with tearful eyes, “ I am 
indeed helpless in every way. Please do not think 
me a silly woman. I — I cannot forget, but I pray 
you, indeed, talk to me as a man. Advise me as 
you would your sister. Tell me what to do, for I 
have no one else who is competent to instruct 
me.” 

“ Tell me about your husband’s mistress ; what is 
she like, in appearance ? ” 

“ Oh, she is a perfect fright.” 

Ambrose smiled good-naturedly and looked at 
his client inquiringly. 


24 The Client 

“ She is a tall, skinny, red-haired, hatchet-faced, 
brazen old thing.” 

Ambrose noted on his tablet, reading aloud as he 
wrote, “ mistress of defendant above medium height, 
somewhat slender, auburn hair, delicate features, 
about twenty-five years old, self-possessed and 
chic.” 

“ I didn't say she was slender and auburned 
haired; judge, I said she was skinny and red- 
headed.” 

“ I know you did,” said Ambrose, bowing. 

“ I didn’t say she was twenty-five years old, self- 
possessed and chic. I said she was a brazen old 
thing.” 

Ambrose bowed again. 

“ Well now, will you please tell me why you de- 
scribe her so differently from what I tell you ? ” 

“ For the reason,” said Ambrose, “ that you do 
not see her with your husband’s eyes, but with 
your own, which is a very different matter.” 

“ And have you given similar credence to all else 
I have said?” 

“ Not by any means,” said Ambrose, “ but I per- 
ceive you entertain an erroneous idea and I must 
explain. An intelligent woman’s opinion of an- 
other woman, if unprejudiced, is worth far more 
than an intelligent man’s opinion of the same 
woman, and we reverse this rule in getting a proper 
estimate of a man, but your opinion in this case is 
prejudiced and of course won’t do, even though a 
woman best understands a woman, and a man best 
understands a man.” 

“ I see,” said his client smiling again, “ you con- 
sider my statement correct save in respect to the 


The Lawyer at Work 25 

woman, but yet I don’t believe you would think 
she is pretty.” 

Again Ambrose smiled. 

“ You know but little about men,” said he, “ in 
your estimate of their opinions as to a charming 
woman. All men in one respect are alike, and 
women sometimes weep indeed to find that this is 
true. As regards women men want only what 
other men want. I don’t say this as a suggestion 
to you in winning your husband’s love, for he is not 
worth the effort, and in your case, action by you, 
inspired by such an idea, would be indeed playing 
with fire, and you would be the most badly burned ; 
however, the precept I have here suggested is an 
excellent one to adopt in many cases, but,” said 
Ambrose, “ perhaps this is tiresome to you.” 

“ No, no, please go on.” 

“ A woman who is a favorite with men is gener- 
ally hated by other women. A woman who is a 
favorite with other women is, down in their hearts, 
of no interest whatever to men. The particular 
kind of congeniality she possesses and which makes 
her attractive to other women as a matter of sex is 
repulsive to man. Here lies the secret of men’s 
aversion to and ridicule of women’s clubs. A 
woman may be such a favorite with other women 
that she may be elected to the presidency of such a 
club, but the greater her prominence in this respect, 
the wider is the breach of sex between herself and 
man. To man, a woman must be a woman, and 
even when she fulfils the highest requirements of 
her sex toward him she sometimes has to work hard 
to win. This is sad to say an axiom in some de- 
gree applicable in your case, only you have failed, 


26 


The Client 


and in my honest estimate of you, the man as your 
husband, who could leave you for another woman 
is simply a degenerate and nothing more. Please 
understand me that in thus referring to the affinity 
of man and woman, I speak only of the matter of 
sex. This to a pure mind might seem a matter of 
secondary importance, but the divorce courts of our 
country have proven it otherwise beyond all ques- 
tion of doubt.” 

Ambrose noted that his client was looking on 
him with an eager but despairing gaze. 

“ You intensify my sense of helplessness,” said 
she. 

“ Then,” said Ambrose, “ let me help you by 
criticising you, when I call your husband a degener- 
ate for leaving you ; I mean to pay you an honest 
compliment, but I also mean much more. I will go 
further and say that these, my first impressions of 
you as a wife, could not be shaken by any future 
conduct of yours. My convictions as to you in this 
respect are fully established. No, no, I am not 
praising you. You are an honest woman, and you 
meant well, but you did not know. It is some- 
times hard to tell whether the most trouble is caused 
by people who mean well and don’t know, or by 
those who do know, but don’t mean well. I will 
not say that your husband is a man who could 
be made to do right on any line of conduct that I 
could suggest for his wife’s guidance, but I will say 
that your easy good nature perhaps has been a 
serious fault in you. You knew his emotional na- 
ture better than any one else, and in a figurative 
sense a wife should hold such a man by the throat 
and never let go. If she expects to live with him 


The Lawyer at Work 27 

she must force him to seek in her the attraction 
that he looks for elsewhere. Straining after senti- 
ment is the rock upon which divorce wrecks mar- 
riage, and the wreck of your happiness has been 
thus caused by your husband's search for sensual 
ideals. Your refined emotions were such that you 
could not sink to his level, and he with his sensual 
nature could not rise to yours. Your honeymoon 
as in thousands of cases before yours, served but to 
reveal the chasm of uncongeniality that yawned be- 
tween you, and thus you lost him. The incompati- 
bility between you is absolute, and I believe hope- 
less. It is often the case and when so, it is 
thoroughly justifiable, that many married people 
are too honest to themselves to be false either to 
nature or their marriage vows, and I credit you with 
all that my words imply. People who are happily 
married would never understand this, but we hope 
there is a merciful God for those who do.” 

As Ambrose uttered these words a slight tremor 
was perceptible in his voice, and his client noticed 
that he spoke with averted gaze. He paused for a 
moment and as he looked up he saw that she was 
regarding him with a look of most intense and in- 
telligent interest, but she did not attempt a reply. 
She leaned her head upon her hand, and with a 
handkerchief wiped away the tears she could no 
longer repress. Ambrose here noticed the gather- 
ing darkness and hastily consulting his watch found 
that it was growing late. This action was accepted 
by his client as a termination of the interview. 

“ Marriage, Mrs. Caldwell,” said he, “ may be a 
law of God, but its ideal features seem to end with 
this assumption. In every other respect it is a 


28 The Client 

problem which must be worked out under earthly 
conditions. 

“ As matters now stand I cannot restore your mar- 
riage happiness, I can only suggest a line of con- 
duct to preserve your self-respect, and will do my 
best to give you the law’s protection.” 

His client arose as one who wakes from a dream 
and as they stood in front of the fireplace she said 
softly, “ May I come again to-morrow ? ” 

“ Not to-morrow,” said Ambrose. “ I have a 
case in court in the morning, and at present I think 
seriously of going out to Raleigh to see what I can 
learn of your husband. Trust me,” said he, as a 
look of alarm appeared on her face. “ I will not 
embarrass you.” 

“ And I am to return to my home ? ” said she. 

“ Yes,” said Ambrose; “ come here again on 
Saturday at two o’clock. In the meantime avoid any 
dispute with your husband and show no interest in 
his movements. Be careful that no false interpre- 
tation be placed upon your own conduct. This is 
all you have to do.” 

When his client was ready to depart, she impul- 
sively extended her hand to Ambrose, who re- 
turning the clasp, said, “ I will go with you to the 
station. Your train will not leave for half an hour 
yet, so we have plenty of time. The station 
is less than two blocks from here. The storm 
seems to grow worse, so my assistance will be en- 
tirely proper,” said he smilingly. 

Leaving Adolph to make all secure the pair went 
out in the storm together, each with an undefinable 
sense of regret that their first meeting had terminated. 


CHAPTER II 


THE LAWYER AT HOME 

After Ambrose had escorted his fair client to 
her train he boarded an up-town car for home. 
He glanced over the head-lines of an evening paper, 
but for some reason he felt indisposed to read. A 
gentleman with whom he was slightly acquainted 
took the vacant seat beside him and attempted to 
engage him in conversation, but the replies of 
Ambrose were so laconic and devoid of interest that 
the gentleman soon abandoned his conversational 
efforts, and unfolding an evening paper proceeded 
to look it over. Ambrose gazed listlessly through 
the car window, watching the blurred and glaring 
lights of the various stores and business places they 
passed. The rain and sleet dashing against the 
windows rendered it impossible to recognize a 
locality and the hoarse voice of the conductor as he 
announced the street crossings in the crowded car 
seemed to Ambrose unusually irritating. In a 
nervous manner he repeatedly struck his knee with 
the folded paper as he recalled to mind in detail the 
visit of his unfortunate client, and he very quickly 
discovered that he was considering the charming 
personality of the lady to the utter exclusion of her 
business interests. 

“ How quickly the time passed,” he thought, 
“ and what did I say to her ? Was I indelicate ? 


30 


The Client 


No, surely I was not. I was her friend; I meant 
to be sympathetic and kind ; why, I even promised 
to go to Raleigh to look up evidence in her case. 
That was foolish. I will send Adolph. No, no — 
I will think it over and decide what to do to-mor- 
row.” 

He pulled his moustache in deep perplexity and 
then went on as before. 

“ What charm has she exercised over me ? There 
is no affectation about her, absolutely none. Her 
voice, her eyes, her attitude are most naturally 
charming. Surely in all my life I have never been 
so impressed with a woman’s personality before. 
Her first words to me breathed a spirit of conge- 
niality, that could only be compared to the balm of 
a spring morning. She seemed to awaken to life 
every dulled sense of manhood within me. Her 
every word and look seemed a caress. But, fie ! 
what folly this is. She is helpless, she needs a law- 
yer, and needs him badly ; that explains everything. 
The charm was her distress which simply awoke in 
me an honest sense of duty toward her. The ap- 
pealing look of her eyes was the same as that 
which a mother would give in asking a physician to 
save the life of a dying child. She wants me to 
save her husband and her happiness with him, and 
her tears flowed because I destroyed the hope she 
had entertained that such a thing was possible. Her 
evident eagerness to hear me talk and advise her 
was not because she felt any interest in me, but for 
the reason that I as a lawyer was her last resort, 
but,” and again his feelings changed ; “ she took 
my hand, and asked to come again to-morrow. 
Her look ? gratitude and self-interest, I suppose. 


3i 


The Lawyer at Home 

So now, Mr. Ambrose Pierce, the wife of another 
man is not in love with you as the husband of an- 
other woman, and you are not in love for the first 
time at the age of forty-three.” 

He smiled grimly as he thus finished an analysis 
of his client’s feelings and his own, but try as he 
would he could not banish from his mind the 
memory of his fair client, and a feeling of trouble 
and unrest took possession of his heart which was 
not dispelled when he left the car and faced the 
winter gale to walk to his home. 

Ambrose and his wife lived in a suite of rooms 
on the fourth floor of a modest up-town hotel known 
as “ The Portland.” The hotel was owned by Mrs. 
Weedahl, a Hebrew lady, whom Mrs. Caldwell had 
mentioned in her letter to Ambrose. Mrs. Weedahl 
was not only the sole owner of the Portland, as well 
as much other valuable real estate, but the manage- 
ment of the hotel was to a great extent under her 
personal supervision. She lived there and Ambrose 
as her attorney was favored in the matter of terms 
in partial return for the legal services he rendered 
her. These services were the most objectionable of 
all his work as a lawyer, but as we have before in- 
timated he was not in a position to choose his 
clients or his work. This brief reference to Mrs. 
Weedahl will scarcely be considered a digression, 
when, in considering a more important phase of 
our narrative we must leave this lady and her 
peculiar characteristics to form the subject of an- 
other chapter. 

Ambrose on his arrival home went to the office 
and was given some mail by the young man in 
charge. His wife had been absent from home for 


32 


The Client 


several days, visiting relatives in the country, and 
Ambrose as he opened a letter and looked it over 
inquired if his wife had returned. 

“ Not yet, sir,” said the young man. “ At least 
I have not seen her.” 

“ I hardly look for her in such a storm,” said 
Ambrose, as he stepped in the elevator and went to 
his apartments. He had scarcely finished dressing 
for dinner, when his wife entered the room, and who 
after greeting him with a kiss, in a few minutes 
was ready to go with him to the dining-room. 

Ambrose in his home life was as a rule meditative 
and morose, and his wife had grown accustomed to 
his silence, but after her absence of several days, 
she felt that his conduct at dinner that evening was 
marked by a gloomy silence that caused her some 
anxiety. 

“ Are you not well, dear ? ” said she. 

“ Oh, yes, yes, certainly,” he said. 

“ You look unusually worried and tired,” said his 
wife ; “ has anything unfortunate happened ? ” 

“ Nothing, whatever,” said he ; “ the usual worry, 
nothing more,” and a slight smile appeared on his 
face. 

On returning to their apartments his wife seat- 
ing herself on his knee put her arms about his neck 
and said, “ Are you glad to see me, dear? ” 

“ Why, yes, certainly. I inquired about you as 
soon as I came in.” 

“ Do you love me ? ” 

“ Why, yes, certainly. What a question. Whom 
do you suppose I love if not you ? ” 

“ Well then kiss me.” 

Ambrose did so, and as he began looking at the 


33 


The Lawyer at Home 

evening paper which he held in one hand, his wife 
with a sigh went to another chair, and taking a 
book to read abandoned her attempt to converse 
with him, and they thus spent the evening in silent 
companionship. 

It is deemed essential to the reader’s proper ap- 
preciation and intelligent understanding of this nar- 
rative, also as a matter of equity and justice to the 
chief characters of the story that a fair and impartial 
analysis should here be made of the marital rela- 
tions of our hero and his wife ; not with any inten- 
tion to excuse him or to condemn her but that the 
reader’s clear conception of the matter may thus 
qualify him as a just and impartial judge. 

Some people spend single lives looking for the 
ideal man or woman, many other people get mar- 
ried and look for their ideals afterward. Which is 
the best way, or whether the task is worth the 
bother under any circumstances, is a problem which 
the author prefers to leave to the intelligent reader. 
One thing is certain ; the degree of persistency and 
thoroughness with which men and women engage 
in such a quest, measures their peace of mind, and 
also the amount of trouble they cause for themselves 
and others. If we were asked to say in which of 
the foregoing categories our hero should be included 
we might classify him among those who look for 
ideals after marriage. But as we have before inti- 
mated in our first reference to his wife, it was not 
his intention before marriage to consider the ques- 
tion of ideals at all. He wasn’t exactly " buying a 
horse,” but common sense business considerations 
were about the only impulses that inspired his 
courtship and influenced his decision to marry. 


34 


The Client 


To the very many cases of married misery in 
this world may doubtless be attributed the popu- 
larity of the concluding lines of “ Maud Muller.” 

“ For all sad words of tongue or pen, 

The saddest are these, it might have been.” 

And there are times in the lives of some married 
people when the commandment, — 

“ Thou shalt not covet, etc.,” is not only the 
hardest to observe, but where its violation in 
thought is also the most pardonable. 

The wedded life of our hero and his wife fur- 
nished a pointed illustration of this, and the merit 
due to each is a matter which we again submit to 
the intelligent reader. 

Both Ambrose and his wife were self-willed and 
obstinate, but while he was naturally careless and 
good-natured, and by reason of the motives that 
inspired his marriage, more or less neglectful in 
those attentions that a loving husband pays to his 
wife he always did the best he could in his care of 
her moral and physical welfare. His wife was by 
nature, irritable, petulant and fault-finding. The 
most trifling faults of Ambrose in the way of omis- 
sion or commission were never passed over in si- 
lence, but were invariably made the excuse for a 
tirade of abuse from a tongue that was never 
bridled. In spite of these faults, however, which 
were the natural attributes of her birth and training, 
as were the faults of her husband ; in matters of 
carelessness and neglect, she was absolutely an hon- 
est woman, faithful and loyal to her husband at all 
times, and at heart was a loving and true wife. Fre- 
quent and bitter quarrels marked the first five years 


35 


The Lawyer at Home 

of their wedded life, chiefly because Ambrose would 
not assume the virtue of love which he did not pos- 
sess. These quarrels were sometimes violent and 
when Ambrose was goaded to uncontrollable anger 
he would hurl to the floor a vase or a pitcher which 
generally ended the quarrel, and the usefulness of the 
china at one and the same time. Under such con- 
ditions and where both felt the obligations of honor 
and fidelity to their marriage vows, there could be 
but one sequence. Ambrose had often told his 
wife that no flower could grow and bloom where 
frosts and sunshine daily alternated, and at last his 
estrangement from her seemed to be complete and 
hopeless. With what little inherent goodness he 
possessed he loved her, and by reason of her virtue 
and loyalty for him he should have loved her more, 
but with a dual nature so evenly balanced upon 
questions of good or evil that his adaptability to re- 
spond superficially and instantaneously in either 
direction when he sought to accomplish an object, 
rendered him incapable of responding to the high 
standard of morality that the unquestioned purity 
and virtue of his wife relentlessly demanded. This 
perfection of the powers for good or evil that 
marked the character of Ambrose, one born, the 
other bred, enhanced in the fullest sense his quick 
and almost infallible perception of right and wrong, 
but it had made of him, ever an actor on the stage 
of life, and he could not consistently be anything 
else. His helplessness in this respect was intensi- 
fied by the constant resentment he felt for the in- 
sults to which his wife daily subjected him. He 
was constantly made to feel that his self-respect and 
his manhood as well were, in his wife’s estimation, 


The Client 


36 

perpetually on the rack of impeachment, and so, as 
he felt that he had “ made his bed and must lie in 
it,” he philosophically concluded that he might 
have made a worse one and resolved to be as good 
a husband as conditions would permit. 

Thus spending their lives as man and wife in 
name only, the only avenues of escape seemed to 
be divorce or death. 

As the years rolled by the wife seemed to realize 
that she was in some degree at fault, and the respect 
she felt for her husbands constancy brought a 
marked change in her conduct toward him. She 
became more polite and considerate toward him, 
and their home life was much more agreeable, but 
his alienation from her remained as hopeless as be- 
fore. The devoted love she showed him in her at- 
tempts to restore him to his former self, and to make 
him her lover husband were pathetic indeed. 

And so we thus return, in our narrative, to the 
time when on this stormy night in February Am- 
brose spent the evening with his newspaper and 
thoughts, and his wife in reading a book. It is also 
deemed essential to a proper conception of this nar- 
rative by the reader, to illustrate in some degree the 
more agreeable features of the home life of our hero 
and his wife during the few years that preceded the 
time that our story opens. 

One evening in the corridor of the hotel Am- 
brose had been taken quite severely to task for his 
tardiness in picking up a handkerchief which his 
wife had dropped on the floor, and later on he had 
in a good-natured way made it the subject of an 
argument as follows : — 

“ My dear/’ said he, “ do you remember the old 


37 


The Lawyer at Home 

poem about the old lady who, to test the love of her 
admirer, dropped her glove in a den of fighting 
lions and asked him to get it for her?” 

“ No, I do not,” said his wife, as she looked at 
him disdainfully. 

“ Well,” said Ambrose, “ the story is like this. 
In ancient times a certain king gave a public enter- 
tainment, and in the amphitheatre below a number 
of lions were turned loose to fight each other. 


“ * ’Mid rant and roar the lions tore, 
With horrid laughing jaws. 

They bit, they fought, 

Gave blows like beams, 

A wind went with their paws.’ 


“ Now the lady we have mentioned who was ac- 
companied by a valiant knight leaned over the den 
of lions and deliberately dropped her glove among 
them, and requested her escort to secure it. He 
bowed, jumped down among the lions, secured the 
glove and escaped unharmed. Then returning to 
his lady, 4 He threw the glove, but not with love, 
straight in his lady’s face,’ upon which the king, 
who had witnessed the entire affair, clapped his 
hands. 4 Not love/ he cried , 4 but vanity sets love a 
task like that/ ” 

“ Well,” said his wife, “ I did not see any lions 
around when I dropped my handkerchief.” 

“ Very true,” said Ambrose. “ I didn't see any 
lions.” 

“ And there was no crowd of people around for 
you to show off to.” 

“ That's so,” said Ambrose, “ there wasn't any 
crowd.” 


38 


The Client 


“ It was a handkerchief I dropped, not a glove.” 

“ Right again,” said Ambrose. 

“ And you are not a valiant knight by any 
means.” 

“ No, I am not much of a knight,” he said. 

Ambrose would seldom explain when his wife 
failed to understand him. He would never confess 
to her that the degradation of his self-respect and 
manhood to which she had by law subjected him, 
was the chief reason that the flower of love had 
failed to bloom in his heart. He was never vain 
enough to tell her that when she had exercised these 
privileges, as his wife, to the extent of almost burst- 
ing the matrimonial ties that bound them, that he 
remained true to his marriage vows by reason of 
the very sense of honor and duty, which she had 
for many years so terribly impeached. 

On another occasion his wife had put her arms 
about his neck from behind his easy-chair and 
said, — 

“ You think I am the sweetest thing on earth, 
don’t you, dear ? ” 

“ Well,” said he deliberately and with a judicial 
smile, “ you are very near it.” 

“ You conceited wretch,” said his wife, slapping 
him playfully. 

“ But my dear,” said her husband, “ I am tryingas 
usual to agree with you. You have on a number 
of occasions distinctly said that this exalted honor 
belonged to me.” 

One day she said to him, “ If I were only a beau- 
tiful woman, you would love me more, wouldn’t 
you, dear?” 

“ No,” said Ambrose ; “ mere physical beauty in 


The Lawyer at Home 39 

you would not make any difference in my affec- 
tions/’ 

And he meant what he said, for while he was a 
great admirer of beauty in women, this feature alone 
was a matter of but little interest to him. In fact 
at a summer resort hotel on one occasion, a profes- 
sional beauty who so courted notoriety that she 
made herself very silly and generally obnoxious by 
soliciting compliments on her personal appearance, 
and who, in a desperate effort to include him in her 
train of admirers had considered him grossly offen- 
sive when she provoked him to say, — 

“ Miss Summer, we all admit that as far as per- 
sonal appearance goes you are quite pretty, but 
while we know that the peacock is a handsome bird 
his charms end there by reason of his voice and his 
vanity.” 

The one thing above all else that Ambrose re- 
quired of his wife was that her conduct should be 
such as would give character to his life and his home 
in external appearances if nothing more. In every 
other respect he gave her perfect freedom in thought 
and action. Both were unwilling to have the world 
suspect a skeleton in their closet. He felt that this 
concealment of their troubles was a virtue which 
they both for business and social reasons should 
rigidly assume. 

One evening Ambrose putting aside his paper 
said abruptly, “ My dear, I want you to go and have 
some photographs taken.” 

“ Why, Ambrose,” said she, “ you know what my 
photographs look like. They are simply frightful.” 

“ Never mind how they look,” said he; “go to 
the best photographer you can find and tell him to 


40 


The Client 


do his best. I know that those you had taken last 
made you look as if you had a severe pain ; you 
must smile.” 

“ That is what I always try to do,” said his wife ; 
“ but when they put the back of my head in an iron 
brace and tell me to look pleasant, I just go all to 
pieces. The last time I went there, and they told 
me to look pleasant and think of something agree- 
able, I began to think of the Persian lamb coat you 
had said you would try to buy me, but when the 
pictures were completed their appearance suggested 
the horrible doubts I felt about getting it.” 

Ambrose smiled. “Well,” said he, “ you must 
try once more. You look very well in a low-necked 
evening dress, and you had better dress that way. 
As for a pleasant subject, think of something you 
are sure of. Myself, for instance. Just imagine 
that you have got the coat and that you are looking 
at me with a loving smile.” 

“Very well,” said his wife, “ I will go to-mor- 
row.” 

She kept her word, and when after a few weeks 
the photos were sent home they were certainly very 
fine specimens of photographic art. 

“ Look ! Ambrose, look ! ” said the delighted wife 
when her husband came home one evening and she 
held up the photo for his inspection. 

“ Did you ever think I was as pretty as that ? I 
had no idea that I could ever be so beautiful.” 

Her innocent pride amused Ambrose, and he him- 
self was also greatly pleased. The pose was most 
graceful. The arrangement of her hair was artistic 
and her beautiful white shoulders “ unadorned, were 
adorned the most.” The smile that her husband 


4i 


The Lawyer at Home 

had asked for was evidently an honest one, and as 
such it so enhanced the beauty of her otherwise 
plain features that this heartfelt expression of her 
love with the assistance of photographic art had for 
once made her a truly beautiful woman. 

“ Now, dear,” she said, “ I intend to have one of 
these photos done in ivory type and have it put in 
a guilt frame for you especially, and put it in your 
room so that when I am not present you can imag- 
ine you have a pretty wife if nothing more.” 

The intelligent reader will by this time clearly un- 
derstand the condition of “ armed neutrality ” that 
existed in the mind of Ambrose, and to which all 
of his emotions were subservient. Also it will be 
easy for him to understand the prolonged truce that 
began with the cessation of hostilities on the part of 
the wife, and in which without surrendering one jot 
of her strong personality she fruitlessly begged of 
him to give up his own. 


CHAPTER III 


MRS. WEEDAHL AND HER BUSINESS METHODS 

On the morning after Mrs. Caldwell's interview 
with Ambrose Mrs. Weedahl, the owner of the 
Hotel Portland, sat busily engaged at a desk in the 
rear room of her suite of apartments on the office 
floor. This room which opened into the kitchen 
of her hotel was not only her private office for the 
transaction of hotel business, but also, despite its 
obscure location, the headquarters of her very ex- 
tensive financial interests. Mrs. Weedahl was a 
Jewess, and her age about fifty years, She was a 
blonde, tall, muscular and heavy, whose fat plethoric 
face and ruddy nose were strongly suggestive of 
good wine. Her head was adorned with a profusion 
of coarse flaxen hair, and the rough freckled skin 
and hard cruel expression of her face were accentu- 
ated by a pair of small reddish eyes, whose only 
natural expressions were those of cunning treachery, 
deceit and cruelty. So distinctly was she in petti- 
coats a type of the cold-blooded “ Merchant of Ven- 
ice,” that a business acquaintance with her carried 
us even further backward in ages past, and created 
the impression that in her personality could dis- 
tinctly be traced a nineteenth century embodiment 
of the malice, hatred and revenge that had inspired 
her ancestors on the day of the Crucifixion. 

It might seem superfluous to say that Mrs. 


Mrs. Weedahl 


43 


Weedahl had been a widow for many years, but she 
was generally known as such, and as her historian 
for the time being, we can only admit what we feel 
to be a justifiable ignorance of her matrimonial ex- 
periences, and also of the lesser light who doubtless 
had found oblivion at any cost, preferable to opu- 
lence as her husband. 

She was known chiefly as a financier of business 
enterprises, both great and small, and her eccentric 
business methods in such matters were less sur- 
prising than the success that invariably attended 
them. The profit of her investments seemed to be 
almost her only consideration, and security was a 
secondary matter entirely. She was always busy, 
if not with her own affairs, with those of other 
people, and ever at work she never seemed to tire. 
No detail of her business escaped her careful 
scrutiny, and the early morning of each day was 
devoted to the management of her hotel. We 
thus find her engaged at the time our reader is 
introduced to her. 

Her manager who was consulting her at the time 
was a meek voiced and affable man, whose disposition 
was in such sharp contrast with that of his repulsive 
mistress that a casual observer would wonder why a 
woman like Mrs. Weedahl should retain such a man 
in her employ, but Mrs. Weedahl like many sharp 
business people realized that in this especial branch 
of her business a foil was necessary as a medium of 
communication between herself and guests. She 
said a great deal about her guests that she would 
not say to them, and her imperative harshly ex- 
pressed orders were conveyed to them by her 
manager in a courteous and diplomatic way. For 


44 


The Client 


instance one day a Mrs. Brown-Jones, whose in- 
come did not permit her to enjoy a more pre- 
tentious home than the Portland, and who in sad 
need of some distinguishing mark to raise her 
above the mediocrity that her plebeian names and 
personal appearance suggested, insisted upon the 
hyphen in a vain hope that it would obtain for her 
a social standing which otherwise she could never 
hope to attain ; — Mrs. Brown-Jones we were about 
to say, had made serious complaint because the 
celery served her at dinner the evening before was 
outside stalks instead of celery hearts, otherwise the 
bill of fare was one which in a down-town restaurant 
of similar appointments would have cost her about 
$2.50 for the meal, but for which, under the weekly 
rate charged her, she obtained at a cost of thirty- 
five cents. 

“ Just you tell Mrs. Brown Hyphen Jones that we 
would like to give her celery hearts ‘ A la Waldorf 
Hyphen Astoria,’ but that on a thirty-five cent 
basis we are compelled to bluff more or less at the 
style she wants,” said Mrs. Weedahl to her 
manager. The manager in conveying Mrs. 
Weedahl’s message to Mrs. Brown-Jones had 
said, — 

“ Mrs. Weedahl regrets very much that you did 
not get celery hearts as ordered, and has severely 
reprimanded the pantry girl. She, however, asks me 
to suggest to you that owing to the rates we charge 
it is not always possible to prevent an outside stalk 
of celery from being served, but that in the future 
we will endeavor to prevent any recurrence of this 
neglect in the kitchen.” 

“ Now,” said Mrs. Weedahl to her manager, 


Mrs. Weedahl 


45 

whose name was Mr. Grill, “ what have you left 
over from breakfast ? ” 

44 Not very much,” said he. 44 A plateful of bits 
of steak and some pieces of broiled ham.” 

“ Grind them up and call them 4 force meat 
croquettes a la espagnole’ for lunch. Anything 
else ? ” 

44 Well yes, there were quite a lot of cold griddle 
cakes left over.” 

“ Butter on them ? ” 

44 Well, yes, some are buttered.” 

“ Use them as an entree to-morrow. Call them 
4 French pan cakes with currant jelly.’ ” 

“We have no currant jelly. Shall I buy a 
tub ? ” 

44 Buy a tub ? ” and the good lady’s face grew 
apoplectic. 44 Buy a tub ? Shades of Shylock. 
No, get two pounds of glucose colored with analine. 
A tub ! — and you a hotel manager ! Mr. Grill, you 
surprise me.” 

Mr. Grill's discomfiture was painful to look upon, 
but referring to some notes he held in his hand he 
said , 44 Mr. Jordon, the new arrival, says that last 
evening he and his wife waited fifteen minutes for 
his soup to be served to him. He said that the 
waiter who takes care of his table was waiting on 
two other guests who had come in ahead of him, and 
he also says he won’t stand any such service.” 

44 Did he wait fifteen minutes ? ” 

44 No, I knew he was a new guest who is trying 
our house, and if he likes it he will stay a year, so I 
took care to watch his waiter in the dining-room at 
the time, and by my watch he only waited three 
and one half minutes.” 


46 


The Client 


“ He has not signed a lease yet ? ” 

“ No, madam.” 

The expression on Mrs. Weedahl’s face was one 
that would remind us of the small boy who aimed 
to throw a brick at his father, and as he saw his 
parent approaching with a stick, held the brick be- 
hind him and smiled in a genial way. 

“ Tell Mr. Jordon that the waiter will be called to 
the private office and severely reprimanded. Also 
soak off one of the labels from a pint of my private 
Cruse and Fil’s Medoc, and paste it on one of those 
ten cent pints of cooking zinfandel. Put it on his 
table for dinner this evening with the compliments 
of Mrs. Weedahl, and say she is awfully sorry for 
the annoyance he was subjected to. He will pay 
ninety per cent, interest on that zinfandel before his 
year is up, or my name isn’t Rachel Weedahl ; ” 
upon saying which the honest lady’s eyes shone 
with a baleful gleam that boded no good for Mr. 
Jordon. 

The manager continued, “ Mrs. M’Garrite says 
she cannot eat the luncheons we serve and wants to 
know if she can have poached eggs on toast without 
extra charge ? ” 

“ Has she signed a lease ? ” 

“ Yes, madam, for a year.” 

“ Tell Mrs. Mack Garrity she can have anything 
extra that she wants if she pays for it. Tell her to 
take her thirty-five cents down town and see what 
she will get for it. A half portion of soup and a 
piece of bread.” 

And again the good lady looked warm with her 
righteous indignation. 

“ Anything more ? ” she inquired as she touched 


Mrs. Weedahl 


47 

an electric bell and a boy appeared in response to 
her summons. 

“ I believe that is all/' said Mr. Grill, as he arose 
to go. 

“ Very well/' said his mistress, and then turning 
toward the waiting boy she said, — 

“ Has Judge Pierce been down to breakfast yet? " 
“ He is in the dining-room now,” said the boy. 

“ Tell him that if he has time I would like to see 
him before he goes out.” 

“ Yes'm,” said the boy, as he hastened to obey 
the order. 

Mrs. Weedahl then went on opening and reading 
her mail, and after a few minutes Ambrose entered 
the office. 

“ Good-morning, Ambrose,” said the lady. “ Sit 
down, please. Are you in a hurry ? ” 

“ No, not at all,” said he. “ I have a case in 
court at 10:30, but I have fully an hour at my dis- 
posal if you wish it.” 

“ Good,” said his client. “ There are several 
matters I wish to speak of. First of all, has 
Bloomenberg paid any rent yet ? ” 

“ No,” said Ambrose. “ He is now over three 
months in arrears. Shall I push him ? ” 

“ What good will it do ? ” 

“ He has quite a stock of dry goods.” 

“ And I hold a bill of sale on most of it.” 

“ For what amount ? ” 

“ Thirty thousand dollars.” 

Ambrose whistled softly. 

“ You see,” said the lady, “ that the only way 
Bloomenberg can protect himself and me is to fail. 
He will have to plunge a little. In addition to my 


48 


The Client 


bill of sale on his stock, I want you to see him and 
make him give me a note equal to six months’ rent 
with interest. Then tell him to borrow all the 
money he can. He can raise considerable cash in 
this way, for he don’t owe much outside of what he 
owes me. He ought to make a pretty good failure 
and save enough to begin again.” 

Ambrose looked the disgust he felt, but made no 
reply. 

“ I don't see any other way to save my money,” 
said she. “ If I push him I will lose on the deal. 
Will you see him for me? ” 

Yes,” said Ambrose. “ I will see him on Mon- 
day, and force him to give the note, but I think I 
had best send him to you for advice as to the other 
business. A personal understanding on these mat- 
ters between you and Bloomenberg would be much 
better than one between Bloomenberg and me.” 

“ Right you are, Ambrose. Your advice is 
always good. Get the note. Send Bloomenberg 
to me and let me do the rest. I believe in my 
heart though,” said she, “ that you have got too 
much conscience for a lawyer. Your honesty crops 
out so often.” 

“ In the matter of conscience,” said Ambrose, “ I 
never knew whether I had too much or too little.” 

“ Too much, Ambrose, entirely too much. Now 
I am going to finance another man in a fruit and 
vegetable scheme, and I want you to draw up a bill 
of sale covering the stock, etc., which I shall start 
him with. Make the bill for five hundred dollars.” 

“ What do you know about him ? ” 

“ Very little indeed, save as to his business 
ability.” 


Mrs. Weedahl 


49 


“ Has he any money of his own ? ” 

“ Nothing to speak of.” 

“ Who is he ? ” 

“ I only know his name.” 

“ And yet you will advance him five hundred 
dollars.’ 1 

“ Just so.” 

Ambrose looked at her inquiringly. 

“ Yes, Ambrose,” said she, “ I have another pro- 
tege on hand. And he is simply a wonder. He 
is only a boy in years, age twenty-two, but I dis- 
covered him. He would get rich without me, but 
I want to use him. He is selling peas now.” 

“ Selling peas ! ” said Ambrose. 

“ That is all, but the way he does it is what at- 
tracted my attention.” 

“ Well?” 

“ Well, he buys a few quarts of dried green peas 
— two cents per quart ; soaks ’em over night in 
water ; then puts them in a big market basket with 
a cloth over them, and sells them at private houses 
as hot-house peas for twenty-five cents per quart. 
He has a tin liquid quart measure with the bottom 
hammered inward and the handle knocked off, so 
that when he measures his peas he sticks three 
fingers in the measure, and of course helps to fill it 
that way. Oh, there is no doubt about him,” said 
she, noting the sardonic smile on Ambrose’s face. 
“ He is a Rothschild in finance, only he is still in pin 
feathers. 

“ All right,” said Ambrose, laughing, “ send your 
Rothschild to me, and I will tie him up the best I 
can.” 

“ Now another thing, Ambrose,” said Mrs. 


5o 


The Client 


Weedahl. “ Have you succeeded in getting any 
satisfaction from Hickey & Cross, the plumbers, in 
regard to the repairs they made on my Queen 
Street house ? ” 

“ Not yet,” said Ambrose. “ They refused the 
offer you made for a settlement, and we have let 
the matter rest.” 

“ Well,” said she, “ you had better ’phone them 
and see if you can make terms for a settlement. I 
wish to have the bill paid, as I intend to order them 
to do considerable work on my country place, 
Berylwood. Get the best terms you can, and I will 
send them a check. By the way, Ambrose, I in- 
tend that my opening of Berylwood in June shall 
be a social event that will eclipse all my previous 
efforts in that line. I propose to make it a stunner, 
Ambrose, a regular stunner.” 

“ Your fetes at Berylwood have always been mag- 
nificent, Mrs. Weedahl,” said he. 

“ Yes, but this time, I intend to make the affair 
one that society will attend or regret for the rest 
of their lives if they don’t; why shouldn’t I, Am- 
brose ? My house there is the finest country place 
for a thousand miles around ; surrounded by two 
hundred acres of beautiful lawns and groves of 
lovely shade trees. I have the money to spend, 
and when I spend it that way I can see the effect. 
I think that is all for the present, Ambrose. I sup- 
pose you understand everything.” 

“ Entirely,” said he, “ but there is one thing I 
wanted to ask you about ; how did you happen to 
know Mrs. Caldwell ? She called on me at your 
suggestion.” 

Mrs. Weedahl leaned back in her chair and 


Mrs. Weedahl 


5i 

laughed loudly as she fixed her red eyes upon Am- 
brose in a cunning gaze. 

“ Mrs. Caldwell ! ” said she. “ Did she call on 
you ? I didn’t think she would muster up courage 
enough to do so. Yes, I sent her to you. She 
has got a whole lot of trouble. I hope you took 
her case.” 

“ Yes, I did,” said Ambrose, “ but how did you 
know her? ” 

“ Oh ! she used to drive out to Berylwood once 
in a while with her husband. You know he is the 
sheriff out at Raleigh ; you also know that Beryl- 
wood is only a short distance from Raleigh. I saw 
them quite often during the summer.” 

“ Then you know considerable about them both.” 

“ Oh, yes, Dick Caldwell always was a hard case ; 
a regular political boozer. He always liked bad 
whiskey, bad cigars and bad women, and when a 
man’s tastes run that way he isn’t good for much. 
I don’t see how he ever got to be sheriff.” 

“ But his wife seems a lovely woman, and a good 
woman.” 

“ So she is. She is far too good for him. She 
is just too sweet for anything. But, beware, Am- 
brose, I know her too. She has got an Ocean 
Grove conscience, but Coney Island emotions ; I 
also know that you are weak on charming women 
like her.” 

Ambrose was tempted to angrily resent this in- 
delicate reference to his unfortunate client, as well 
as the implied estimate of him, but he realized that 
a reproof to a woman like Mrs. Weedahl whose 
character and habits were thoroughly formed would 
do more harm than good, and so he said nothing. 


52 


The Client 


A pause in the conversation between Mrs. 
Weedahl and her attorney in which both seemed in 
deep thought was at length broken by the lady, 
who abruptly began, 

“ Ambrose, how long has it been since you saw 
or heard from your sister ? Pardon my mentioning 
this subject, for I know it is distasteful to you, but I 
have always felt a woman’s curiosity about your 
only living relative.” 

“ Why, Mrs. Weedahl,” said he, “ you know 
some of the facts concerning her. The last time I 
saw her was when she lived in this city, nearly ten 
years ago. She was then a girl of twenty and 
absolutely incorrigible. You know I disowned her. 
The last time I heard from her was when a man 
told me a year or so after this that she had married 
some man and shortly after ran away and left him. 
I don’t know the man’s name, but why do you ask 
about her ? ” 

“ Oh, no reason whatever ; simply my everlast- 
ing curiosity to find out all I can.” 

Ambrose was hardly satisfied with this answer, 
for he had a faint impression that Mrs. Weedahl’s 
abrupt inquiry in regard to his sister, was not, as 
she had said, made from idle curiosity alone, but he 
made no further comment, and hastily consulting 
his watch hurried down town to his office. 


CHAPTER IV 


A FRIEND IN NEED 

On arriving at his office, Ambrose found the 
laconic and imperturbable Adolph awaiting him. 

“ Mr. Morse ’phoned me an hour ago that his 
client, Mrs. Jeffries, in the case of Jeffries versus 
Hartman, was too ill to attend court this morning, 
and so he has secured a postponement of the case 
for one week, and hopes that this will be agreeable 
to you.” 

“ Very well,” said Ambrose, as he removed his 
hat and coat ; “ note the postponement, hour, etc., 
in my engagements for next week, and file my 
arguments you have completed there along with the 
papers in the case.” 

“ Mrs. Caldwell also ’phoned a few minutes ago, 
and asked if you would please call her up as soon 
as you came in. This is her ’phone number,” and 
he handed Ambrose a slip of paper. 

“ Did she say anything else? ” said Ambrose. 

“ She asked if I thought you would be here be- 
fore eleven o’clock.” 

“ For the reason that a train leaves for Raleigh 
at 11:15,” said Ambrose. 

“ I told her that you would be here before ten 
o’clock, and that I would deliver her message as 
soon as you came in,” 

“ Was that all ? ” 


54 


The Client 


“ She said she had a communication to make to 
you which she thought would be of considerable 
importance in her case. Shall I get her on the 
'phone for you now? ” 

“ No," said Ambrose, “ not yet. I want to sit 
down and think over the matter a moment." 

He seated himself at his desk, and remained there 
for some time absorbed in deep thought. He 
quickly decided upon a consistent line of action 
with reference to Mrs. Caldwell, and then his 
thoughts reverted more intently to the question 
Mrs. Weedahl had asked him in regard to his sister. 
He pondered deeply over the matter, but could 
only attribute her inquiry to a depraved and morbid 
taste for topics of sensational gossip, or to a disposi- 
tion which she frequently showed toward him of 
trying to drag him down to her own moral level by 
exhibiting a coarse familiarity in her references to his 
misfortunes in business, as well as to his only living 
relative, the mention of whose name ever filled him 
with a sense of the keenest sorrow and shame ; for 
Ambrose had loved his sister. He remembered 
how when a boy of fifteen he had played with her 
as a child in the fields adjoining the old homestead ; 
how he had carried her on his shoulders, while she 
screamed in childish glee at the antics of the dog 
who romped at her brother’s feet. He remembered 
how he had patiently nursed her once when she 
was sick with fever; how at her request he had 
placed her numerous dolls in the crib, all in a row, 
where she could touch them, and how her little pale 
face had lighted up with a smile as she reached out 
her little hands to him. The old home, his happy 
childhood days, the sorrow he felt at the death of 


A Friend in Need 


55 


his father and mother, his separation from his 
sister, her wayward life and final disgrace as an out- 
cast from society ; his sense of utter loneliness and 
unhappiness as he thought how he had strug- 
gled against a relentless fate. These thoughts as 
they came like a flood into the mind of Ambrose, 
carrying him backward to the past, created a feeling 
of dejection and despair, from which he aroused 
himself only by a determined effort. 

“ Poor little Ruth,” he said with a deep sigh, 
“ you were all I had left and I loved you so.” 

Ambrose determined that at his first opportunity 
he would satisfy himself upon the subject of Mrs. 
Weedahl’s curiosity in asking him about his sister, 
and then rising from his desk he referred to the 
’phone number that Mrs. Caldwell had given and 
asked for the connection of Raleigh. 

“ Yes,” said he, “ I have decided to come out on 
the 11:15 train this morning. 

“ Why, yes, I can see you, but perhaps it would 
not be advisable to call at your house. The 
absence of the sheriff from home would facilitate an 
interview, but I think best to see you only for a 
few minutes. I will bring Adolph with me and 
would suggest that you walk down to the depot 
about the time our train is due. 

“ Adolph,” said Ambrose, as he hung up the 
’phone, “ I want you to go to Raleigh with me. 
Our train will leave in twelve minutes.” 

Adolph looked the surprise he felt, as he 
closed his desk preparatory to obeying his master's 
order, but fleeting as was the expression on his face 
indicative of this feeling, it did not escape the ob- 
servation of his master, who was so accustomed to 


The Client 


56 

the sphynx-like reserve of his clerk, that any visible 
evidence of emotion by him was always accepted as 
a caution to carefully consider any plan of action 
he might have in view. He felt that his clerks 
silent admonition was not uncalled for, and smiled 
as he thought of his penetrating sagacity, but 
knowing in his own heart that Adolph was mis- 
taken in his hypothesis, he felt that an assurance of 
intended discretion was due to his faithful clerk ; so 
with an indulgent smile he said : — 

“ We shall make no mistake in going to Raleigh, 
Adolph. You do not understand everything. Our 
stay there will be very brief, and our business possi- 
bly of little moment so far as Mrs. Caldwell's case is 
concerned.” 

Ambrose was secretly entertaining in his mind a 
suspicion that had been awakened by a remark that 
Mrs. Caldwell had just made over the 'phone, 
which in connection with her description of her hus- 
band’s mistress and the inquiry that Mrs. Weedahl 
had made caused him to feel interested in the iden- 
tity of his client’s rival. 

“ Nonsense,” he said to himself ; “ the suspicion is 
simply absurd, but I shall feel better for knowing,” 
and with this secret thought uppermost in his mind 
he walked in company with Adolph to the depot. 

In less than an hour they arrived at Raleigh, and 
as they stepped upon the platform they found Mrs. 
Caldwell awaiting them. 

As Ambrose raised his hat with one hand and ex- 
tended the other in greeting, her glad smile of wel- 
come, sincere and honest as it was, caused him 
again to forget all else save her charming manners 
and appearance. Every outline of her graceful 


A Friend in Need 


57 


form was set off to the best advantage by a street 
costume in which simplicity of design emphasized 
the beauty it was intended to adorn. 

“ It was so good of you to come here to-day,” 
said she in a voice whose soft low tones were ren- 
dered inexpressibly sweet by the heartfelt sincerity 
that prompted her words. “ Where shall we go to 
talk?” 

“ The ladies’ waiting-room right here will per- 
haps be best,” said Ambrose. “ It is likely to be 
vacant just now.” 

And so it was. They entered and seating them- 
selves where they would not be observed by the 
ticket agent, they felt free to discuss as quickly as 
limited time would permit, the objects of their meet- 
ing. 

“ First,” said Ambrose, “ tell me all you know 
about this woman ; who is she ? ” 

“ Her name is Adele Moran. She lives with a 
woman said to be her aunt out near Mrs. Weedahl’s 
place, Berylwood. I never heard of her until a few 
months ago. One day while looking over my hus- 
band’s desk during his absence from town I found 
several letters and a photograph, which I believe to 
be his most recent conquest. I have the photo with 
me and will show it to you, though I don’t think it 
resembles her very much.” 

She opened a hand-bag she carried, and drew 
therefrom a photograph of a woman’s face in pro- 
file and gave it to Ambrose, who took it to a win- 
dow and studied it intently for several minutes. 
Presently he returned it to her, remarking quietly as 
he did so : 

“ The face is a strange one to me. I never saw 


The Client 


58 

her before ; ” and then he continued, “ you told me 
your husband was absent from home this morning. 
Do you know where he is ? ” 

“ No, I do not. He went off alone driving. I 
suppose he has gone out to take Adele for a ride.” 

“ Well, perhaps we may see them before we re- 
turn home. I shall attend to several matters in your 
interest while here. We must have evidence. 
Your personal statements unsupported by the testi- 
mony of competent witnesses will not win your case 
in court. I practice here occasionally, and will 
place your affairs in the hands of a man who will, I 
have no doubt, easily secure the evidence you need. 
I know this man personally. He is reliable and I 
am sure he will work for a contingent fee. I shall 
also go to the county clerk’s office and secure posi- 
tive information regarding your husband’s property, 
and in fact, will fully satisfy myself as to his re- 
sources. I think in a week or so we should be in a 
position to push the case in court.” 

“ And I am to call at your office to-morrow after- 
noon,” said she. 

“ Yes,” said Ambrose, “ and now, for your sake, I 
think our interview should, for the present, termi- 
nate here. Remember what I told you yesterday. 
Innocent as you are, you cannot afford to have 
your own conduct subjected to question. I will go 
from here with Adolph to the Raleigh House for 
dinner. Leave us here and go by another route to 
your home.” 

“ Very well,” said his client, “ there is only one 
thing more I have to say now. I wanted you to see 
the photograph and also wanted to tell you that I 
have heard that they dine quite frequently at the 


A Friend in Need 


59 

Raleigh House. Does the sheriff know you when 
he sees you ? ” 

Ambrose smiled. “ Yes,” said he. “ I see you 
have anticipated me. The sheriff knows me, but he 
does not know Adolph. Adolph will act upon a 
few suggestions I made to him coming here on the 
train. Of course, as your attorney, I must keep in 
the background, and as he knows me it would be 
useless for me to do anything else.” 

“ I fully understand,” said his client, smiling. “ I 
see that you need no suggestions from me, but let 
me caution you in one respect. The clerk at the Ra- 
leigh House, I am quite sure, has an understanding 
with the sheriff.” 

“ I had fully considered that possibility,” said 
Ambrose, quietly. 

“ I wish I could leave him now. I am often in 
fear of my life when he has been drinking.” 

“ You shall leave him very soon, but you must 
not let him say that you wilfully deserted him.” 

“ Very well, I leave it all in your hands ; good- 
bye. I will see you to-morrow,” and grasping his 
hand warmly, she hurried away. 

Ambrose found Adolph awaiting him in the 
smoking-room and said, “ Now Adolph, you and I 
will also separate here. Go in advance of me to the 
Raleigh House, where I will meet you later. It is 
now 12 : 30, and we will dine there at different ta- 
bles. You of course do not know me. You know 
what to do if the party arrives in advance of me, 
and perhaps they may not arrive at all. I am go- 
ing first to the county clerk’s office and may also 
see Bob Wrenn before or after dinner.” 

With this understanding they left each other. 


6o 


The Client 


Ambrose was detained at the county clerk’s office 
rather longer than he had anticipated, and it was 
past I : 30 when he reached the hotel. He had 
fully satisfied himself in regard to the sheriff’s re- 
sources and looked around for Adolph, as he en- 
tered the hotel exchange. 

Adolph saw him and his face was as expressionless 
as a blank wall, but he arose from his seat and walk- 
ing down the corridor entered a retiring room. 
Ambrose followed. When alone together, Adolph 
said, “ They are dining together in a private room on 
the second floor. I went up in the elevator with 
them and left it when they did. I watched for the 
bell-boy who opened the room for them. I gave 
the boy a dollar and secured a key which admit- 
ted me to the room adjoining. I saw and heard 
enough to make me a competent witness. In fact,” 
said Adolph, as the trace of a smile appeared on his 
face, “ no other testimony but mine will be 
needed.” 

“ Good,” said Ambrose, “ we will conclude our 
programme as previously arranged. We will now 
take dinner and meet again at the depot for the four 
o’clock train. We might return sooner, but for fear 
that he will suspect us and arrange a transfer of his 
property, I will see that a writ is prepared and served 
upon him to-morrow morning. I fear trouble for 
his wife, but she should not leave him until we can 
get the writ served.” 

Ambrose lost no time in attending to the neces- 
sary formalities in bringing an action for divorce 
against the sheriff, and shortly afterward he rejoined 
Adolph at the depot where together they took a 
train and returned to the city. On the train Adolph 


A Friend in Need 


61 


related in detail his experiences as an amateur de- 
tective at the Raleigh House, and told how a cracked 
panel in the door communicating with the room in 
which the sheriff and his companion were dining 
had enabled him to secure the evidence he sought. 

“ I think,” said Ambrose, “ that when we reach 
the city I will telephone Mrs. Caldwell, if I can 
reach her, to look out for trouble, and to be pre- 
pared to leave as soon as Bob Wrenn serves the 
writ on her husband.” 

Later on he succeeded in doing this and was ad- 
vised that the sheriff had not yet returned. 

On the following morning when Ambrose arrived 
at his office he found Adolph awaiting him in the 
hallway leading to the same. 

“ The bell-boy made another dollar in addition to 
the one I gave him,” said he. 

“ What do you mean ? ” said Ambrose. 

“ He told the sheriff that a man had been watch- 
ing him in the adjoining room.” 

“ Indeed,” said Ambrose with an air of perplex- 
ity. “ I suppose that means Mrs. Caldwell is 
here ? ” 

“ She is in your office now with her servant girl. 
I thought best not to let you be surprised by this.” 

“You are discretion personified, Adolph,” said 
Ambrose. “ Go in. I will be there in a few min- 
utes,” and he walked to the end of the hall in order 
to briefly consider these rapidly moving events that 
his action of the day before had precipitated. 

“ Now,” thought Ambrose, “ this means that I 
am expected to suggest a place for her to live as 
well as to advise her upon other matters of equal 
importance. Well I think I have anticipated every- 


62 


The Client 


thing ; there is nothing in this, but what I fully ex- 
pected. My duty is plain, and I most certainly feel 
no inclination to avoid it.” 

He then entered his office and kindly greeted 
Mrs. Caldwell and her maid who awaited him. 

With tearful eyes Mrs. Caldwell raised her veil 
and showed him a dark bruise on her forehead. 

“ He struck me, judge,” she said. “ He came 
home just before dark. He had been drinking 
and was in a terrible rage. He accused me of em- 
ploying a detective and said the bell-boy had told 
him that a man had been watching in an adjoining 
room. He cursed me terribly, and when I attempted 
to speak he struck me with his open hand, but so 
hard that I fell to the sofa, almost insensible.” 

“ Did any one see him strike you ? ” 

“ Indade, I saw him, sor,” said the maid. “ It was 
a hard blow that he gave, — the miserable villain. I 
told him that I would never stay another hour in a 
house with the likes of him, and that I would leave 
with the missus. He went off to the saloon while 
I packed my own trunk and helped the missus to 
pack hers.” 

“ And then,” said Mrs. Caldwell, “ we had a man 
take our trunks to the depot. We stayed over 
night at the hotel, and came to the city this 
morning.” 

“ Yes,” said Ambrose, and then turning to the 
maid he said, “ are you willing to swear to what you 
saw ? ” 

“ Indade I am, sor,” said the girl. “ I could swear 
right now.” 

“ Very well,” said Ambrose, “ you can swear right 
now ; the sooner the better. Adolph, take her into 


A Friend in Need 


63 

your room, prepare her affidavit, and get notary 
Stubbs, next door to acknowledge it as soon as you 
are ready. Now,” said he, as Adolph and the 
maid went to the adjoining room, 44 what would you 
wish to do in the matter of securing a place of 
abode ? ” 

44 Indeed,” said his client, looking at him help- 
lessly. 44 1 have neither wishes nor choice. I have 
no means, whatever,” and again the unbidden tears 
came to her eyes. 

44 1 see,” said Ambrose, thoughtfully, 44 you have 
done the best you could, and in your action of 
leaving home, no other course was open to you. 
But do not despair, Mrs. Caldwell. Your case is 
one in which the law is certain to amply provide for 
you. Your husband’s resources, as I learned yes- 
terday, will exceed eighty thousand dollars, clear of 
all encumbrances. Prior to obtaining your decree 
of divorce I do not think it advisable for you to re- 
side at Raleigh. The sheriff has too many friends 
there, and we must very carefully guard against 
counter charges by him, if he makes a defense, and 
I do not think he will attempt to make one. I live 
up town at the Portland ; how would it suit you to 
go there ? ” 

44 Oh, I would gladly go there,” said she eagerly, 
44 but how would it be possible, in view of my cir- 
cumstances ? It may be a long time before I can 
get money.” 

44 It won’t be long,” said Ambrose. 44 Bob Wrenn 
has perhaps already served a writ on your husband 
which I ordered yesterday,” and then he smiled as 
he thought of a business proposition he would make 
to Mrs. Weedahl, and which would be strictly in 


64 The Client 

line with those she was as a rule so willing to con- 
sider. 

“ I think,” he continued, “ that Mrs. Weedahl 
would be glad to take you at the Portland, as a 
guest and await your convenience in the matter of 
paying your bills, also I can secure for you a loan 
of sufficient money to meet your necessary ex- 
penses in other ways. Perhaps the manager of the 
Portland can give employment to your maid also. 
She seems like a good girl, and worthy employees 
are always in demand at a hotel. I hardly see what 
else you can do, as some provision must be made 
for you at once, even though the arrangements are 
but temporary. Please wait here while I attend to 
some other matters that demand my attention, and 
at noon I will go with you to the Portland.” 

“ Thank you,” said his client. “ I feel that I can 
never repay you for your kindness,” and her look 
of gratitude and relief were more expressive than 
her words. 

Ambrose looked at his client with an expression 
equally sincere and said, “ Mrs. Caldwell, aside from 
all questions of business appertaining to our pres- 
ent relations, I should be recreant to every sense of 
manhood as well as humanity if in your present 
troubles I failed to render you as much aid as I 
could consistently give, so I assure you that this as- 
sistance is no task to me, for the friendly interest I 
feel in you renders it impossible for me to consider 
the trifling favors I have shown you as such, and 
now,” said he, smiling pleasantly, “ I must leave you 
for an hour or so, and will return as soon as possi- 
ble.” 

Upon returning he notified Adolph that he was 


A Friend in Need 


65 

going home and would not be at his office again 
that day, and with his client and her maid started at 
once for the Portland. Mrs. Caldwell who by this 
time had recovered her cheerfulness in some degree, 
remarked with a smile as they rode along : — 

“ My maid has informed me that the sheriff 
already has a rival for the affections of Adele.” 

“ Indeed,” said Ambrose smiling, “ it is strange, 
very strange, how men at times pursue a woman. 
We might often feel justified in assuming from this 
that the real, authentic and original ‘ bone of con- 
tention ’ was the rib from which she was made.” 

“ And she has also boasted of her influence on 
the sheriff, that she might add to my humiliation.” 

“ Then,” said Ambrose, “ her reign will be short- 
lived; a woman’s influence over a man ends as 
soon as she begins to brag about it.” 

On arriving at the Portland, Ambrose registered 
for Mrs. Caldwell and her maid, and they were 
shown to suitable rooms. He then asked to see 
Mrs. Weedahl and was shown at once to her 
private parlor. This lady greeted him with a rather 
affectionate familiarity, which Ambrose at once 
attributed to the genial influence of a copious and 
recent indulgence in wine. 

“ Glad to see you, Ambrose,” said she ; “ sit down 
and be comfortable. You want to see me?” 

'‘Yes,” said he. “Mrs. Caldwell and her maid 
have just arrived and are now guests of the 
Portland.” 

Mrs. Weedahl leaned forward in astonishment. 

“ Well, Ambrose,” said she, “ the way you break 
news to me sometimes takes my breath. When did 
this happen ? ” 


66 


The Client 


“ Just a few minutes ago/ ’said he. “ I brought 
her here. Her husband struck her most cruelly last 
night and she fled from him for her life.” 

“ Is it possible, Ambrose, well ! well ! and the 
sheriff did that. Oh, my ! oh, my ! a man is pretty 
low when he forgets that people who wear skirts 
are women, and that people who wear pants are 
supposed to be men.” 

Ambrose then related in detail his client’s 
financial circumstances. The evidence he had 
secured at the Raleigh House, the sheriff’s re- 
sources, and how he had already begun suit for a 
decree of divorce with alimony, and that in his 
judgment as a lawyer, Mrs. Weedahl would take 
little risk in giving to his client the credit she 
desired. 

“ Why certainly, Ambrose,” said Mrs. Weedahl, 
“ give her the best in the house. She will get 
enough of the sheriff’s $80,000 to pay for it. It 
won’t make any difference when she pays. When 
you say you can win a case that’s enough, and I 
know what it means. Give her a fine suite of 
rooms ; tell her she can have as much money as she 
wants. She won’t mind a little extra interest, I 
suppose, on account of the risk, you know.” 

“ Now, Mrs. Weedahl,” said Ambrose, “ that is 
a point upon which I want you to do me a favor. 
I don’t want Mrs. Caldwell to be taken advantage 
of in her present helpless condition. A modest suite 
of rooms will do for her, and I ask you most 
earnestly not to charge her more than legal interest 
for any money you advance her. If your manager 
can employ her maid, I hope he will do so ; if not, 
she can secure a place elsew 7 here.” 


A Friend in Need 67 

“ All right, Ambrose, this shall be as you say, so 
don’t worry about it. Have a glass of wine ? ” 

“ No, thank you,” said he, “ and now, one thing 
more ; Mrs. Caldwell is a lady of most exquisite 
sensibilities, and will doubtless keenly feel the 
delicacy of her position here in a public hotel, as a 
woman who is estranged from her husband and in- 
volved in a suit for divorce. I hope that these facts 
will not become a subject for gossip among the 
guests. She of course is not to blame for her un- 
fortunate circumstances, and it is not fitting that 
she should be called upon to explain to any one. I 
hope that her present troubles will not be added to 
by the morbid curiosity of other guests.” 

“ Don’t let that worry you, Ambrose. We won’t 
allow any investigation of her affairs, and there is 
nothing wrong about her personally. There are 
only two kinds of women who won’t bear investi- 
gation, Ambrose, only two kinds.” 

“ Mention them,” said Ambrose with smiling 
curiosity. 

The expression on Mrs. Weedahl’s face was that 
of a woman who unwillingly betrays her sex as she 
answered : — 

“ One of them is the woman who advertises for 
an elderly gent to loan her ten dollars ; — object 
matrimony.” 

“ And the other,” said Ambrose, and this time 
he laughed heartily. 

“ The other is the woman who poses as a pro- 
fessional beauty, — bah ! ” and the worldly wise lady's 
expression of contempt was for once so genuine 
that it indicated even in her liberal mind a limit of 
toleration for her sex. 


68 


The Client 


When Ambrose retired that night he smiled as he 
thought of all that had happened during the past 
forty-eight hours, and went to sleep, wondering how 
it would end. 


CHAPTER V 


IN WHICH THE AUTHOR REFUSES TO ADMIT THAT 
“THE CLOUD LOOKS LIKE A WHALE” AS A 
MATTER OF DEFERENCE TO MY LORD PUBLIC 
OPINION 

Upon the subject of marriage and divorce and the 
social status of divorced people the writer of this 
narrative does not intend to evade his responsibility 
as an humble advocate of consistent morality, 
either by a tacit concurrence with the generally 
accepted views of the world at large, or by an 
evasion of their vital features for the sake of being 
decorous. Much has been said and written in 
assurance of the moral betterment of this world and 
a contention that this generally accepted hypothesis 
is not a tenable one seems a task too great for any 
one individual to assume, but, the wish that ideal 
theories were facts is father to the conviction that 
they are not. The Adam and Eve of to-day are 
but duplicates of their historic ancestors. Men are 
not only animals, but they are the worst of all 
animals, for they kill each other more than other 
animals do, and upon the question of morals as re- 
gards the matter of sex there is perhaps less crime 
committed by the savages who don’t wear clothes 
than there is by the savages who do. This 
pessimistic but matter-of-fact view of the world’s 
progress in civilization so far as the question of 


The Client 


70 

original sin is concerned, would seem to be the 
necessary and rational basis for providing an 
argument against some of the fallacious ideas that 
regulate the questions of marriage and divorce to- 
day. 

The animal nature of man is a thing that must 
be whipped into shape, either by law or circum- 
stances, and it is chiefly upon this assumption that 
we would base our criticism of some of the social 
evils resulting from love-blinded ideas as to mar- 
riage. Marriage is the most important factor of 
Christian civilization, but its practical, worldly and 
legal features are almost entirely obscured by its 
contemplation as an ideal form of existence. This 
sadly delusive conception of its real meaning applies 
to so many unfortunate marriages that it would seem 
to be the essence of common sense to reverse the 
usual order of things and make it strictly a contract 
of law to the exclusion of every other consideration. 
In a marriage ceremony it would be better to elim- 
inate entirely the church, the altar, the clergyman 
and the wedding-march. These are the features 
that are looked forward to by young people as the 
portals of ideal existence in wedlock. The character 
of the obligations they thus assume creates the impres- 
sion that their responsibilities are chiefly to God, and 
while we admit the figurative merit of this, its literal 
value is refuted by the well-known fact that in observ- 
ing these obligations the world at large is like aschool- 
room full of children when the teacher is absent. 

Also, by church marriages, the erroneous impres- 
sion is created that if people find their obligations to 
God a source of unhappiness to them, the laws of 
man provide an easy avenue of escape. 


The Author Refuses to Admit 71 

People contemplating marriage should be made 
to realize prior to the ceremony that there is much 
law to bind them together and little or none to part 
them. The misleading, supposedly ideal features 
of church marriages are so far reaching in injurious 
effects that it would appear perfectly proper to sub- 
stitute for them a form of ceremony so shorn of its 
ideal features that a magistrate’s office with six po- 
licemen in full uniform and drawn clubs, with a pa- 
trol wagon for a conveyance, should be regarded as 
the gateway to whatever bliss the condition of wed- 
lock was expected to afford. 

This seemingly harsh reversal of an established 
custom, iconoclastic as it may appear, would ma- 
terially help to remove its misleading ideality and 
intensify its very serious realism. In many mar- 
riages the awakening from dreamland is rude enough 
under any conditions and to emphasize this, is not 
only a species of cruelty, but its tendency is to nar- 
row the influence of the church and to extend that 
of the divorce court, and so we further claim that 
the influence of clergymen in these matters should 
be to simply enforce and sustain the laws of the 
land, and not to inculcate impressions that these 
laws may be evaded by the assumption of higher, 
but less binding obligations of the church. 

It is no answer to my criticism for the church to 
say that its marriage ceremonies are recognized as 
lawful by the courts of our country. We are not 
questioning the legality, but the appearance and 
effect. Custom is a very strict law for many. 

The church marriage is for the young and inno- 
cent a hook covered with a tempting bait, a trap for 
the love-blind and unwary, whose sharp teeth are 


72 


The Client 


concealed by palms and flowers, or else the rocks 
upon which the bark of life is often wrecked, and 
whose song of the siren is the music of the wedding 
march. 

Marriage is the severest test of business honor to 
which mankind is ever subjected, and as the fore- 
going opinions are the honest convictions of the 
writer, admittedly a sinner, surely the clergy of our 
country cannot afford to be less conscientious than 
he. I would not for a moment convey the impres- 
sion that a condition of wedlock is not improved by 
the moralizing influence of the church. I would 
only assume that the church is more needful after 
marriage than before; that its sacred usefulness 
would be more greatly enhanced by providing the 
antidote instead of the bane. Its business methods 
should be so reversed that instead of the church 
creating victims for the divorce court the divorce 
court should send its victims to the church. Let 
us be just, for Justice , which in one word is a sum- 
mary of all the religion that God through nature or 
the Bible has ever sought to teach humanity, should 
be the only motive to inspire or regulate the laws 
of marriage in their application to the welfare of 
society. 

After marriage, and when the contracting parties 
imagine that they have made a serious mistake, just 
the same as they imagined before marriage, that 
they could not live without each other, the question 
will often arise as to how much suffering they should 
endure before seeking relief in divorce. I answer 
almost everything, and sometimes even death itself. 
The mere question of incompatibility should never 
be considered a satisfactory excuse for divorce. No 


The Author Refuses to Admit 73 

man and wife ever lived who could live together 
without agreeing to disagree. As to how much 
suffering should be endured is a question that has 
been answered many thousands of times, but in 
different ways. In the minds of some people a 
single act of infidelity is enough to separate them. 
In the minds of others constant infidelity by one or 
both is mutually forgiven. Some women feel that 
a single blow is enough to break the bond, while 
some women permit their husbands to beat them 
every day and still remain faithful to their marriage 
vows. The degree of credit to be accorded these 
people is to be measured by their mental calibre 
and native refinement. 

But there are conditions of married life where 
divorce is not only justifiable but commendable. 
There is no question but that some people do make 
serious mistakes in getting married. Some people 
should never marry, but they do not know this. 
“ To err is human," and in marrying they may 
have made the most innocent, and yet the most 
serious mistake of their lives. They married in 
obedience to the mandates of virtue and respecta- 
bility, and perhaps for one or both the divorce court 
is the last resort in which honor and self-respect can 
be saved, and so if from the secure judgment-seat 
of married bliss we condemn them to social exile 
for thus seeking to end their misery by law, we cer- 
tainly commit the worst of social crimes, and upon 
the question of true honor we sink ourselves far 
beneath those whom we thus condemn. 

The writer once attended the marriage of a 
woman who had been divorced. This marriage- 
ceremony was performed by a prominent Episcopal 


74 


The Client 


divine, and it was interesting to note the fact that 
the clergyman omitted the customary words, 
“ Those whom God hath joined together let no 
man put asunder/’ We submit this statement 
without further comment than to suggest that the 
reader draw his own inferences from it in connec- 
tion with the opinions already expressed. 

One of the chief causes of married misery lies in 
the fact that the love that inspires marriage is so 
often falsely interpreted. It is often supposed to 
be a mental emotion when in reality it is a physical 
one ; both forms are engendered by natural laws, 
but it would appear to be a reasonable deduction to 
say that the emotion inspired by congenial tastes, 
loyalty to mutual interests, long association, mutual 
kindness and respect is the only kind of love that 
is worthy of the name. We cannot deny the dual 
nature of love, or that all of its phases are engen- 
dered by natural laws, but experience, that high- 
priced teacher, who in these matters so frequently 
leads us to the divorce court, or else abandons us to 
a life of misery, is forever teaching the lesson that 
prior to marriage we do not possess sufficient intel- 
ligence to distinguish the difference between these 
two emotions, and the state of wedlock forces the 
question to an issue and a solution. This solution 
sometimes is a very bitter one, for in women far more 
than in men is to be found the highest degree of 
virtue, or the lowest depth of depravity. A good 
pure woman is the nearest thing to God, but a thor- 
oughly bad woman is the nearest thing to the 
devil. 

Every courtship is unfortunately full of decep- 
tions, but they usually end with the wedding break- 


The Author Refuses to Admit 75 

fast, and when the honeymoon is over many un- 
happy married people might get along better if 
they would properly introduce themselves to each 
other. 

In the case of the young man before marriage it 
is not always an easy matter to form a proper esti- 
mate of him. He is in most cases the lottery ; a 
responsibility which he recognizes as a harness and 
from which he cannot break away is often neces- 
sary to develop him as a man. In the case of the 
woman it is an easier matter. She is of course 
always an angel if Cupid is blind, but a careful 
study of her intimate female friends will tell 
enough. They are the unconscious mirrors in 
which her real self is reflected. 

There is also something in a breed, for when a 
rabbit weds the turtle, mediocrity in speed, at least, 
is reasonably assured. 

We do not purpose to tax the patience of the 
reader by making this chapter on marriage a guide 
to matrimony, and will end it with one more sug- 
gestion. It is true that “ the mate for beauty should 
be a man,” but there are few indeed who awake to 
realize a great law of nature in the fact that “ when 
the queen bee weds she flies so high that only the 
stalwarts of her hive can follow her.” 


CHAPTER VI 


PLAYING WITH FIRE 

The advent of Annette (for so we shall for good 
and sufficient reasons, hereafter, refer to the unfor- 
tunate client of our hero), into the social circle at 
the Portland, was marked by the usual features that 
attend the efforts of a handsome woman alone, and 
apparently without friends to live in an honest and 
respectable way. Her beauty, her graceful repose 
and charming manners were at once the subject of 
question and jealous curiosity on the part of the 
women, and a mad rush to form her acquaintance 
was made by both the married and single men. 
The precautions taken by Mrs. Weedahl and Am- 
brose to protect her and to preserve her peace of 
mind were fruitless. Her poor little secret soon 
leaked out and it became quickly noised through 
the house that she was a woman who had left her 
husband and was suing for divorce. She thus be- 
came the object of tender but questionable com- 
miseration on the part of the men, but the openly 
expressed sympathy they showed for her only 
added fuel to the flame of jealous resentment, which 
was apparent at all times in the treatment she was 
accorded by the lady guests of the hotel. The fact 
that she quietly ignored the attentions of the men 
as well as the morbid curiosity of the women, 
marked her among the gossips as a deep schemer, 


77 


Playing With Fire 

who would stand any amount of watching. If she 
came down to dinner in a plain unassuming dress 
they wondered if she had no better clothes. If she 
added to her natural beauty by appearing in a gown 
that was elegant in design and appearance the 
“ bold woman was working for the admiration of 
the men” If she did not go out in the evening 
they wondered whom she was staying home to en- 
tertain. If she did go out during the evening for 
any purpose, whatever, they assembled in the office 
waiting-rooms to watch for her when she came in, 
and to note if any escort accompanied her to the 
door, and if by such sharp surveillance and brazen 
impoliteness they caused her face to color with em- 
barrassment, they chuckled audibly among them- 
selves in a feeling of triumph at the thought that 
they had penetrated her guise of morality, and ex- 
posed her on general principles, if nothing more. 
Is it not thus that a woman’s injustice and cruelty 
to her sex is often responsible for a sister’s down- 
fall ? and that the vice she thus creates becomes a 
Nemesis to wreck her own happiness or home ? 
Many women who live in hotels are the most bitter 
foes of defenseless creatures of their sex, chiefly 
because they do not possess sufficient energy, intel- 
ligence, fair-mindedness or tact to manage a home 
of their own. Thus nursed in indolence they be- 
come criminal in mind. This mode of life intensi- 
fies their uselessness, and if Satan does not find 
mischief for their idle hands in one way he does in 
another. 

In every hotel there is the usual clique of gossip- 
ing women, and as the reader has already inferred 
the Portland was no exception to this rule. 


The Client 


78 

Mrs. Brown-Jones who by the way was a “ sod” 
widow, was a recognized leader of this coterie of 
scandal-mongers. Mrs. Brown-Jones, we should 
say, was preeminently qualified in many ways for 
this distinguished social position. She was fat, oily 
and of imposing stature. Her words as well as her 
feet carried weight. The women listened to her 
because they were afraid to do otherwise, and in 
addition to all this she possessed the ability to talk 
to the utter exclusion of everybody else. Mrs. 
Brown-Jones often spoke of her deceased husband 
and gained considerable sympathy by the manner 
in which she referred to his death, and the many 
years of ill health which he suffered prior to his de- 
parture for a better world, but a careful observer 
who had been advised as to certain facts relative to 
her past, would never fail to note that she never re- 
ferred to the life she had led previous to her mar- 
riage, or to the fact that she had actually caused her 
husband’s death by setting a social pace for him 
that his impaired health and financial ability could 
not possibly endure. In her own heart she of 
course knew that she had literally worried him to 
death, but at the mature age of fifty years or more 
with no other object in view, of course, than the 
moral betterment of humanity, she had resolved to 
be very good, and at the time we write she was 
very active in church work, while her prominence 
in such matters was duly attested by the fact that 
her name was frequently seen on printed notices of 
church events, which were conspicuously posted 
around the office of the Portland, and the man who 
did the church printing had never been known to 
omit the hyphen. Under such conditions the mor- 


Playing With Fire 79 

tal who might possess sufficient temerity to openly 
delve among the records of her past would have 
been literally frowned out of the house. Mrs. 
Brown-Jones had no time for an immoral woman. 
Immorality to her was something terrible. She 
frowned upon it so often and so openly that her 
paraded purity was strongly suggestive of Mrs. 
Micawber’s devotion to her husband, the beautiful 
pathos of which has been immortalized by Dickens 
in his story of “ David Copperfield.” We might 
mention right here that the vulgar Mrs. Weedahl 
had remarked one morning to Mr. Grill when he 
had shown her some immense church posters bear- 
ing the name of Mrs. Brown-Jones with the hyphen 
unusually enlarged, and asked if she were willing to 
have them put up in the office that, “ he might put 
up one of the posters,” and also had added this un- 
solicited testimonial, “ what a gilt-edged old bluffer 
she is.” But of course the intelligent reader would 
not be influenced in his estimate of Mrs. Brown- 
Jones when we admit that on the morning referred 
to Mrs. Weedahl had taken considerable wine, and 
though we know that, “ in wine there is truth,” we 
could under the circumstances only assume as a 
matter of courtesy, that the real facts proved an ex- 
ception to the old saw. 

Mrs. Brown-Jones, in the social inquisition to 
which it was decided to subject the unfortunate 
Annette, was to all appearances very unwilling to 
be hasty or inconsiderate. She was willing to be 
active in the matter, but as she sweetly remarked, 
u We should be circumspect and demure,” and when 
Mrs. M'Garrite had answered that “ the would be 
grass widow was demure,” Mrs. Brown-Jones had 


8o 


The Client 


playfully patted Mrs. M’Garrite on the shoulder with 
her fair hand, and said, “ You are such a funny girl, 
Maud. Now stop laughing; the poor thing must 
amuse herself in some way,” upon which Mrs. 
M’Garrite had laughed the more and said she 
thought “ Grassy would find plenty of boys to 
amuse her,” and then Mrs. Brown-Jones had said 
with a sigh, “ Well, the evidence seems to be all 
against her.” 

We have, I believe, failed to call the readers at- 
tention to the fact that Mrs. M’Garrite had in spell- 
ing her name dropped the “ c ” that was originally 
a part of the prefix “ M-,” and also had changed 
the final “ y ” to an “ e ” with the accent on same, 
and by so doing, like the ostrich who hides his head 
in the sand thinking no one will see him, had trans- 
ferred her family pedigree from Dublin to Paris. 
Mrs. Weedahl’s vulgarity had again been forcibly 
demonstrated one day when she had said to Mr. 
Grill that, “ Mrs. Mack Garrity was a French woman, 
but that her potato face was a very good map of 
Ireland.” And here again, as the historian of Mrs. 
Weedahl, we feel compelled to chronicle the fact 
that she had taken considerable wine prior to say- 
ing this, in fact she was under its influence rather 
more on this occasion than when she had spoken so 
disparagingly of Mrs. Brown-Jones, and this state- 
ment, as a matter of courtesy, must of course de- 
tract in a corresponding degree from the accuracy 
of Mrs. Weedahl’s estimate of Mrs. M’Garrite. Mrs. 
Brown-Jones and Mrs. M’Garrite were assisted in 
their efforts to purify the social atmosphere of the 
Portland by two other ladies, one of whom by 
her overbearing insolence to the hotel employees 


Playing With Fire 81 

and the oriental costumes she wore was known 
among the help as the “ Empress of China ” ; and 
the other a lady who posed as the daughter of an 
Italian countess, and who by reason of this silly 
pretense was known as the “ Countess Dago.” 
This worthy quartette felt that they were fully 
competent to do what was needful in making the 
social circle at the Portland superior to that of any 
other hotel in the vicinity, and so as self-constituted 
judges in the matter, it may readily be inferred that 
the private affairs of the unfortunate Annette would 
be subjected to such a social cauterizing that all the 
dross would be burned up even if in achieving this 
result they cremated their victim at the same time. 

It is needless to relate the sickening details of the 
methods they adopted in proceeding to inflict a proc- 
ess of systematic torture upon their victim. The 
author, a sinner himself, who feels that he could for- 
give almost anything unintentionally bad, and 
whose efforts in this narrative to portray the frailty 
of mankind and the power of virtue over sin, will be 
subjected to the most unfair and severe criticism by 
just such people he has described in the foregoing 
pages is not willing that the detestable breath of the 
scandal-monger shall mar the pages of a book that 
is intended to inspire hope in the heart of erring 
humanity, rather than give an extra kick to those 
who are struggling against an evil and seemingly 
relentless destiny. 

Ambrose, — and also Mrs. Weedahl, we are glad 
to say, tried hard to make Annette feel that the 
Portland was a congenial home for her. Mrs. 
Weedahl’s apartments were always open for her 
and she was treated with every consideration when 


82 


The Client 


she called there. Annette made many efforts to be 
agreeable to other ladies in the hotel, but while 
some of them treated her with kind politeness they 
did not call on her, nor did they invite her to call on 
them ; many others merely looked askance at her, 
for their own social positions were upon such pre- 
carious footings that they could not afford to risk 
the jar, that a little Christian kindness to Annette 
would have brought upon them. 

Ambrose introduced her to his wife and per- 
suaded Mrs. Pierce to call upon Annette in her 
apartments ; Annette also called upon Mrs. Pierce. 
But right here it is well for the reader to pause, and 
in a retrospective view of what he has read he will 
quickly infer that the woman who was so thor- 
oughly congenial to Ambrose would be absolutely 
uncongenial to his wife. This proved to be exactly 
the situation. There was no topic or sentiment 
which could afford to them a basis for congenial in- 
tercourse. Even the subject of dress was a failure, 
and when two women who desire to be agreeable to 
each other cannot talk about dress goods and fash- 
ions, it is safe to assume that they were never in- 
tended to be chums, and so a social problem was 
forced upon Annette whose solution she was not 
equal to. She was a woman who possessed all the 
endearing attributes of her sex. She longed for 
sympathy, kindness and love, but the delicacy of her 
position was by a misfortune in no way her fault, of 
such a character that she knew not what to do. 
She soon abandoned her attempts to be agreeable 
to the ladies of the Portland, for on many occasions 
when repeatedly snubbed by them, she had retired 
to her rooms and wept bitter tears as she prayed to 


Playing With Fire $3 

an Almighty Power for guidance and comfort. 
During this period of trial and social suffering she 
could not resist the temptation to visit one place 
which seemed a natural haven of refuge for her 
storm-tossed soul, and this place was the office of 
Ambrose. She naturally was required to go there 
on many occasions on business relative to her suit 
for divorce, and the genial welcome she always 
received there never left a doubt in her mind that 
she was properly understood and appreciated. In 
fact we may as well admit right here that her nec- 
essary visits to his office were not only needlessly 
prolonged, but on many occasions she would call 
when she was not expected. If on these occasions 
Ambrose was busy or was out of his office she 
would go away, but if he was disengaged for the 
afternoon she would sit by his fireplace and they 
would converse for an hour or more. These inter- 
views, commonplace enough as they were, were a 
source of great pleasure to both ; each felt abso- 
lutely at ease in the others presence. A tacit un- 
derstanding conveyed by a look alone had been es- 
tablished between them from the first time they had 
met. Their congeniality for each other made words 
absolutely needless, and yet words came unbidden. 
Thus a perfect affinity seemed established, and a 
bond of friendship existed between them, which un- 
knowingly by both was considered nothing more. 
Though this was perhaps supposed by Ambrose 
and Annette to be the limit of their feeling in the 
matter, we should not fail to note that as the visits 
of Annette became more and more frequent and the 
hours more prolonged, this conduct was likely to 
cause an impression in the mind of a certain individ- 


The Client 


84 

ual that Ambrose and Annette felt more than a 
friendly interest in each other, and that he had a si- 
lent duty to perform in connection with this new 
state of affairs. The aforesaid impression and sense 
of duty existed in the mind of Adolph, who in an 
adjoining room with open door was ever present, 
but ever absent ; Adolph seemed to feel a sense of 
delicate propriety on these occasions which was 
perhaps in its affect the most palpable evidence of 
business discretion that has ever been recorded. In 
addition to his well-known attributes of silence, he, 
on these occasions added to his phlegmatic temper- 
ament the power of being deaf, dumb, blind and in- 
visible. This conduct on the part of Adolph irri- 
tated Ambrose and amused Annette. The two dif- 
ferent effects upon the minds of the lawyer and his 
client, which the conduct of Adolph inspired, may 
be taken as an indication of the degree of serious 
feeling that existed in the heart of each, and also 
their innocence of intentional wrong. They both, 
at times, entertained a secret fear that they were 
drifting on dangerous seas, but in this partly secret 
but pardonable enjoyment of each other’s society 
they felt a sense of honest liberty, which the many 
years of suffering they had each endured seemed to 
peacefully justify in their hearts the few hours of 
happiness they thus stole from a hopeless destiny. 

The subject of their conversations were always 
those things nearest their hearts, and as a natural 
sequence they derived such consolation and com- 
fort from their meetings, as only those mortals 
whose conditions of life were similar could possibly 
understand. 

One bright afternoon when the sun shone with 


Playing With Fire 85 

such genial warmth that it seemed to herald the 
near approach of spring, Annette called as usual and 
though she had been there but two days before she 
made no attempt to conceal the delight she felt at 
finding Ambrose disengaged and at leisure for the 
remainder of the day. His own honest smile of 
welcome was answered by a joyous laugh from An- 
nette who eagerly extended both hands as she 
earnestly greeted him. Then removing her hat 
and a light wrap she wore she snugly nestled back 
in a huge leather chair and looked at him with a 
gaze in which content, confidence and affection as 
well were plainly evident. Then feeling perhaps 
that she had not been sufficiently decorous in the 
ardor of her greeting, and as she felt a tinge of color 
in her cheeks, she looked at him again and with 
an arch smile said, “ It is so good to be here ; you 
advise me ; you teach me ; you console me so much,” 
and then with another smile, “ Your open fireplace 
is so cheerful.” At this moment the noise of fall- 
ing books and a chair being moved was heard in 
the adjoining room, also several coughs were heard, 
which Ambrose at once understood and accepted 
as a notice that Adolph was about to intrude upon 
them. He made no comment, but as Adolph came 
in he reached to his desk and taking therefrom a 
box of voice lozenges he extended the open box to- 
ward Adolph, merely saying without the shadow of 
a smile on his face, “ Take one.” The solemn face 
of Ambrose and the ludicrous expression on that of 
Adolph were irresistibly funny to Annette. Her 
merriment was uncontrollable and she laughed 
so heartily that Adolph finally decided to laugh 
also, and then Ambrose followed suit. Adolph’s 


86 The Client 

cough was never especially noticeable after that 
day. 

“ Now,” said Annette, “ please sit down. I want 
to talk to you. I don’t need the fireplace to-day, 
though I see you have a fire as usual. I will admit 
that before going any further. But this bright day 
when everybody seemed to be so happy, made 
me feel so lonely that I felt I must see you. I 
don’t know just what my feelings were, but it 
was doubtless an impulse inspired by the knowl- 
edge that my troubles would be forgotten while 
here. You are so kind, and you understand me so 
well that you appear to read my every thought. 
Tell me, do you admit the necessity for such a 
thing as mental nursing outside of a mad house ? ” 

“ Indeed, — yes,” said Ambrose. “ Prevention is 
always easier than cure, and I understand its ne- 
cessity so well that I can best explain myself by the 
expression of a reciprocal thought. I have often 
felt that a confessional outside of the church, pre- 
sided over by a woman of heart and mind, would 
be for some men, under certain conditions, better 
than the uncertainty of a prayer to the Infinite.” 

Annette looked at him intently and a light of 
grateful appreciation shone in her eyes as she an- 
swered, “ But you are stronger than I. You are the 
good and honorable judge by nature as well as by 
name. You are so strong in virtue that a weak 
mortal like me is irresistibly drawn to you as the ivy 
to the oak, and in the secret thoughts of your noble 
heart — nay, nay, please hear me,” as Ambrose made 
a gesture of dissent. “ I fully understand the credit 
that is due you for the sacrifice you have made for 
many years in response to the demands of virtue, 


Playing With Fire 87 

and I pity you as much as I respect you, and so I 
ask, down in your secret heart, what sentiment do 
you feel toward a woman who thus looks up to you ? 
Judge me from a high standard of purity and virtue 
and tell me how much I need ? ” 

“ I would not judge you or any one else from such 
a standpoint,” said Ambrose. “ I am weak and un- 
worthy myself, but I do not believe that any one 
who is very good or very bad could be a just or 
competent judge of others. My views, however, in 
these matters are not accepted as tenable by society. 
In fact it was my experience while on the bench to 
find that society waged a rigid war against me and 
forced me into the retirement of private life, for the 
reason that I honestly sought to live up to the con- 
viction I have just expressed.” 

“ What a pity,” said Annette, “ that even a judge 
in the discharge of his official duty must be an 
actor.” 

“ Yes,” said Ambrose, “ it is sad, but true, and 
your conception of this truth not only applies to 
judges, but to clergymen as well. Society measures 
the respectability of a sinner by his discretion and 
the most successful clergymen, judges and politicians 
are those who possess sufficient intelligence to real- 
ize this, and tact enough to handle it with gloves in 
the discharge of their respective duties. Society 
would charge me with being severely radical if I 
were to say that such men must harmonize in their 
hearts the teachings of the Bible with those of 
Shakespeare and Emelie Zola; but there is, or 
rather was, a common ground ; the Bible, prior to 
its many revisions, the original Shakespeare, the 
works of Zola, all written to serve the most useful 


88 


The Client 


purposes, were alike subject to the criticisms of false 
modesty, and alike open to its moral questioning. 
They teach us that as children of Adam and Eve, 
we are sinners, and that in this world we can hope 
to be but little else, but that we should be natural ; 
do as near right as we can and hope for a better 
world. They also teach us that all earthly peace 
and happiness is born of our justice to humanity, 
and if Adam and Eve when driven from the Garden 
of Eden were forever forced to realize their naked- 
ness, what useful purpose to-day can false modesty 
serve ? ” 

“ We might assume,” said Annette, “ as an an- 
swer to that question, that one of the deplorable re- 
sults is that it places a false value on virtue as well 
as gold.” 

“ Yes,” said Ambrose, “ it does indeed; the false 
ideas of society have placed virtue beyond the reach 
of ordinary mortals, because gold is its price. This 
of course is a most unworthy theory, the merest 
sham indeed, but it is sadly true that the great men 
of to-day must bow to it in silence as a price of 
their prominence. It is true also that occasionally, 
in the language of the turf, they ‘ bluff’ at an at- 
tempt to use harsh language, but their supposedly 
invisible wink is always perceptible, and society tol- 
erates it with a sigh of content that it isn’t law, or 
else, perhaps, it is evidenced by some clergymen 
whose motives are even less commendable, in the 
fact that his misguided tongue lashing of social evils 
is inspired by a desire for notoriety and personal 
gain. In this social system of ours, preachers 
preach before their time, but in doing so the only 
thing they damage is theology. Judges hang their 


Playing With Fire 89 

mistakes ; doctors bury theirs, and the end is ob- 
livion. But what shall we say of the unreal, un- 
worthy ignorance of society to-day, that by the 
power of gold manacles church, court and school, 
and moulds the moral sentiment of a community to 
a condition of hypocrisy as needless as it is abom- 
inable ? ” 

“ Well,” said Annette with a smile, “ consistency 
is said to be a jewel, and men have ever been con- 
sistent in one respect, they have never made a law 
that would punish a woman because she was an 
outcast.” 

“ No,” said Ambrose quickly, “ but their con- 
sistency in this respect is about as praiseworthy as 
that of the man who cursed and abused his faithful 
wife, and then went down-town and took off his hat 
because a girl was in the elevator. Men deserve no 
credit for their failure to enact such a law when 
their consistency is inspired by purely animal mo- 
tives of self-interest.” 

“ Then,” said Annette, “ when the man took off 
his hat to the girl in the elevator he deserved no 
credit for his courtesy ? ” 

“ Well,” said Ambrose, “ so thin a veneer of 
manly courtesy to woman is not entitled to very 
much credit. Perhaps I can prove my meaning 
better by saying that when blindfolded justice weighs 
a man in the balance and finds him wanting, he 
himself is generally the last to learn that his meas- 
ure has been taken, for the power tQ see ourselves 
as others see us is a favor that nature never be- 
stows. For instance, a man may be known in so- 
ciety as irresistibly charming to women, but let him 
ask a worthy girl to be his wife, and her prompt re- 


90 


The Client 


fusal will, if he has good sense, prove for him in 
some degree a very needful mirror." 

Ambrose here noted an expression of extreme 
sadness on the face of Annette, and in silence he 
gazed at her intently as if to divine the cause. 
Presently she looked up at him saying, “ I wonder 
if society is treating my husband the way it is 
treating me ? ” 

“ Well," said Ambrose, “ the fact that he has 
$80,000 and that you have eighty cents, will give a 
large balance of society favor to him. If the sheriff 
were now residing at the Portland in your place, he 
would perhaps get smiles where you receive frowns. 
I suppose that your reputation in Raleigh has suf- 
fered considerably at his hands since your departure, 
for thus does society reward virtue and punish 
crime. A knowledge of such rank injustice has 
made me almost a recluse when for many years I 
have raised my poor voice in protest to be mocked 
at for my pains." 

Another pause in the conversation was at length 
broken by Annette, who said, 

“ Those who can feel the most, suffer the most. 
It has been my fate to suffer ; God only knows how 
much. Chained by law as I was to a wretch, the 
very sight of whom was repulsive to me, it seemed 
the irony of fate that I should have been born and 
perfected as a woman of ideal senses only to be 
mocked at by an animal. For many years I en- 
dured his curses for the sake of doing my duty to 
God and a society that now condemns me. I have 
often thought that words kill more than blows, for 
even if they do not destroy the life, they make us 
dead to feeling, and then death in reality is almost 


Playing With Fire 91 

preferable to a life which is robbed of its every 
charm.” 

Ambrose was startled by her words uttered with 
a passionate feeling that indicated new-born hope in 
her heart, and which finding an echo in his own 
breast would have prompted him to respond by a 
caress, only that now her expression of grief at an 
experience in some respects similar to his own could 
only intensify the bitterness of a fate that stood 
like an impassible barrier between them. He bit- 
terly felt that life held out for her some hope of 
happiness, and that he would be as a further illus- 
tration of the irony of fate she had deplored, the 
legal instrument for her use in its attainment. As 
these bitter thoughts surged through his mind, he 
felt his weakness of heart and breathed a prayer for 
strength to obey the relentless demand that virtue 
made of him in this hour of temptation. His sense 
of duty was subjected to a further strain by a rev- 
elation of her feelings toward her husband which 
Ambrose had not suspected, but which her words had 
implied, so he made it at once the subject of inquiry. 

“ I infer from what you say,” said he, “ that you 
do not love your husband at all, and that you never 
have loved him very much ? ” 

Annette started and leaned forward toward him, 
her face and attitude expressive of most earnest 
feeling, as she replied, “ Surely you do not think 
that any remnant of affection for him could remain 
in my heart, knowing what you do ; surely, Am- 
brose ! Judge, I mean,” and the crimson color 
rushed to her face as in her intense earnestness and 
desire to convince him of her sincerity, the bridge 
of conventionality existing between them was 


92 


The Client 


momentarily swept away. “ How could I love 
him? I, love a monster? Tell me,” she said 
pleadingly, “ you do not think that of me, for I 
despise him.” 

The smile on the face of Ambrose was one of 
pity and also that of another sensation, difficult to 
interpret, as he answered in a serious tone, “ I be- 
lieve you entirely, but you know a woman’s heart 
is readable only when she really is known to love.” 

Again the smile of Annette was easy of inter- 
pretation, as she replied, “ And you cannot read 
mine.” 

Ambrose hesitated, as he answered slowly and in 
a low tone, “ No 1 cannot read it.” 

Annette leaned back in her chair for a moment 
in thoughtful silence. Then she said, “ I am not 
willing that any doubt should remain in your mind 
with regard to my sentiments toward my husband, 
either as to the past or present. I never really 
loved him. When I married him I did so by reason 
of the fact that my parents thought it would be a 
desirable match. I did my duty as a wife, and had 
he been a man who deserved a true wife, even 
though I could not love him I would have died 
rather than be unfaithful or leave him, but in addi- 
tion to his infidelity and his frequent condition of 
being intoxicated, he was naturally abhorrent to 
me. He of course gave me money and clothed 
me well, but I never saw the moment when any 
phase of his natural self was congenial to me, and 
so my life in his society was ever one of mental 
torture. Is it possible, in your opinion, that some 
people are so constituted that the impression they 
make upon others is that of poison ? ” 


Playing With Fire 93 

« Yes,” said Ambrose. “ Listen to me. Your 
words call up in my mind an experience I had a 
few years ago, the relation of which will perhaps 
answer your question. I had for many years felt a 
desire to return to the home of my boyhood, and 
to wander once more in the old fields and paths I 
knew so well. I determined to spend a day or so 
in doing this, and so one morning took a train out 
of town for that purpose. On arriving at the 
nearest railroad station I had a distance of about 
five miles to walk or ride, and as it was a fine day I 
decided to walk. I strode along rapidly and 
presently overtook a heavily loaded team which 
rumbled slowly along drawn by four mules. The 
driver was cracking a long whip the sharp report of 
which echoed among, the hills, and occasionally 
calling to his mules. As I looked up in passing 
the team I recognized an old friend of my boyhood 
in the person of the driver, who was then a hale 
old man of about sixty-five. He remembered me, 
and stopping his team insisted that I should get on 
the seat beside him and ride. I did so, and as we 
rode along we chatted pleasantly of old times. In 
response to my inquiries he told me he had been 
quite prosperous ; he owned his home and other 
properties as well, also a number of good wagons 
and teams. I remarked that it was time he took a 
rest and let others take care of the teams. He said 
he had stopped work several years ago, but had to 
begin again. He said, ‘ When I decided to quit 
work I got a good man to manage my teams and 
drive. He took care of the teams all right ; drove 
'em easy, fed 'em all right, kept the stables clean, 
made good beds for 'em every night, but somehow 


94 


The Client 


or other the mules went wrong ; they began to look 
sick like, and got so poor and thin that they could 
not pull a load. At last I sent the man off and took 
keer of the mules myself, and then they got fat and 
strong again/ upon saying which the old man 
cracked his whip and said, ‘ Gee haw ’ to the mules 
and then blurted out, ‘ Some people is pizen to 
mules.’ He then lapsed into silence and we rode 
on for some time without speaking, for the old man 
seemed to realize as I did that he had stumbled 
upon a great truth and one which did not apply to 
mules alone.” 

“ Well,” said Annette, “ I not only understand 
the forcible impression the old teamster’s words 
made on you, for in some respects I think I know 
you better than you know yourself, but you can per- 
haps better understand that if those dumb mules were 
sickened by the man that was ‘ pizen ’ to them, how 
much more would a woman like myself suffer whose 
fate had been worse than theirs ? ” 

“ Yes, ” said Ambrose, “ it was no fault of the 
mules and we were equally blameless. The expe- 
rience of those dumb and innocent brutes, who in 
some degree were susceptible to the influence of 
congenial treatment, is sufficient proof of the fact 
that many people are sincere and honest when they 
cry aloud that the burden of a life of misery brought 
upon them by an unhappy marriage is more than 
they can bear.” 

Annette noted with intense interest that Arm 
brose had for the first time, by using the word 
“ we,” inadvertently admitted a condition of his 
own unhappiness that he considered a secret of his 
inmost heart, but which the astute and penetrative 


Playing With Fire 95 

Mrs. Weedahl had long ago learned, and had made 
a special topic of conversation in her talks with 
Annette. Mrs. Weedahl had always been made to 
feel a sense of her moral unworthiness in her busi- 
ness relations with Ambrose and while she realized 
her personal impotence to make his conscience sub- 
servient to her immoral nature, she, with a malice 
born of an evil desire to drag him down to her 
level had deliberately, but with the caution of a ser- 
pent sought to make of the lovely but unhappy 
Annette a medium to accomplish her purpose. 
Annette had in the grateful regard she felt for Am- 
brose and by the nature of her troubles lent herself 
innocently to the cherished hope of Mrs. Weedahl, 
and Ambrose in his line of business, his sense of 
duty, and his intense admiration of Annette, as a 
charming woman, had unconsciously done the 
same. But while this power of Satan was at work 
to imperil the souls of our hero and his client they 
were themselves engaged in an innocent but danger- 
ous study of the problem of human happiness by 
a contact of senses as personified in an exquisite 
woman and a man whose heart and mind were re- 
sponsive to her every feeling. 

“ And so,” said Annette, “ by what name should 
we call the disease when we thus sicken of misery ? 
A broken heart is too common, and is not accepted 
by sense and reason.” 

“ Well,” said Ambrose, “ our doctors and other 
professional men do not seem to realize, and if they 
do they will not admit it, that there are many in- 
curable diseases of mankind, which might be 
properly diagnosed and treated as original sin. 
The only successful treatment of such a disease,” 


The Client 


96 

said Ambrose smiling, “ is to remove the cause, and 
thus secure a healthy growth of nature by gratifying 
the refined emotions and suppressing the weeds of 
evil thought.” 

“Your story of the mules then is a true one,” 
said Annette thoughtfully. 

“ It is true in every word as I have related it,” 
said Ambrose. 

“ Then,” said Annette, “ I am sure that we are 
sometimes mistaken in our interpretation of Divine 
Laws,” and she said this with a decisive manner and 
tone that evidenced an unchangeable conviction. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE CANDLE AND THE MOTHS 

The days and the weeks flew by and the visits of 
Annette to the office of Ambrose became almost a 
daily occurrence. She made no attempt to conceal 
the pleasure these visits afforded her, and Ambrose 
after a hard struggle with conventionality abandoned 
himself to the pleasure that her society gave him. 
Annette had by her confidence in him forced him 
into the position of one who should measure by his 
self-control the degree of intimacy that should exist 
between them, and the line of decorum that he thus 
drew grew more imperceptible each day, as their re- 
gard for each other increased and swept it from view. 
They both realized the hopelessness of the affection 
they felt for each other, and the danger to their 
peace of mind that was threatened as a certain 
result of these meetings, but the joy they felt in thus 
seeing each other was such a reflex action on their 
senses, so inured to misery in the past, that they 
naturally became oblivious to all else save the fact 
that they were happy together. They lived when 
in the society of each other, and existence other- 
wise was only made tolerable by the hope that on 
the morrow they would meet again. At the Port- 
land this state of affairs was not suspected by any 
one save Mrs. Weedahl. She alone with her 
depraved, but quick intuition was accurately 


The Client 


98 

responsive to every suggestion of immorality, and 
in her receptive mind she found no difficulty in re- 
versing to their true position the apparent lack of 
interest that Ambrose and Annette showed for 
each other, and she also understood that the un- 
usual and marked attention which Ambrose showed 
to his wife was born of a guilty conscience and 
pity rather than increased affection for her. She 
also had alone taken the trouble to learn where 
Annette was during her many hours of absence from 
the hotel, and her apparently motherly interest in 
her had found expression one day at the office 
counter in a rather sharp retort to Mrs. M’Garrite, 
when that lady had giggled a question as to the 
whereabouts of Annette, as follows : — 

“ Where does the grass widow go every day, Mrs. 
Weedahl? I am dying of curiosity, and is she still 
Mrs. Caldwell or somebody else ? ” 

Mrs. Weedahl answered, “ I know where she goes 
and her friends can know also ; other people need 
not concern themselves. She is still known as Mrs. 
Caldwell, and will continue to be so known until she 
decides to be known otherwise.” 

Mr. Grill finally became suspicious and so ex- 
pressed himself to Mrs. Weedahl who had said to 
him, — 

“ Mr. Grill, you are a hotel man and your business 
as such is to see everything, hear everything, and 
know nothing, unless you are compelled by business 
reasons to do so. When a case reaches the stage 
where you are compelled to see it, be sure to see me 
before you take any action.” 

One day Annette failed to call at his office, 
though Ambrose had advised her that her suit for 


The Candle and the Moths 99 

divorce had been decided favorably for her and that 
she would probably obtain her decree at once. He 
wondered why she had not called, and when he did 
not see her in the dining-room as usual that 
evening, he thought perhaps she was ill, but he 
made no inquiry or comment regarding her. As he 
started to go out for a few minutes after dinner he 
was stopped by a bell-boy who said that Mrs. 
Weedahl would like to see him in her private parlor 
at his convenience. He informed the boy that he 
would be out but a few minutes and would stop 
there on his return to see Mrs. Weedahl, as 
requested. He soon returned, and tapping at the 
door of Mrs. Weedahl’s parlor was invited to enter. 
Mrs. Weedahl’s manner as she greeted Ambrose 
was one that indicated a mind that was engaged in 
the consideration of a very serious matter. 
Ambrose had seen her in just such moods before, 
and he at once realized as he had realized on other 
occasions, that in the business consideration of a 
subject where her interests were aroused, her 
conception of a condition of things was so clear and 
her convictions were so unchangeable that her deci- 
sion was apparent as her meaning was made clear. 

“ Ambrose/' she said, “ I want to talk to you. 
How are you getting along with Annette’s divorce 
case ? ” 

“ The decree was given me to-day,” said 
Ambrose. “ We have been entirely successful. 
Mrs. Caldwell will receive $10,000 cash, and the 
sheriff must pay her nine hundred dollars per year 
in quarterly payments while she remains unmarried. 
If she marries again she forfeits the yearly income.” 

0 You have done well for her, Ambrose,” said 


L.of G. 


IOO 


The Client 


Mrs. Weedahl and she smiled upon him graciously, 
as she realized that Annette’s obligations to her 
would be easily cancelled. “ I am glad the poor 
thing has won, for it will make her mind easy in 
one respect as least. It wasn’t especially about her 
divorce suit that I wanted to talk to you, but about 
Annette herself, and about you, Ambrose; you 
too,” and she smiled significantly, waiting for him to 
reply. 

“ I don’t think I quite understand you, Mrs. 
Weedahl,” said he. 

“ Oh, yes, you do,” said the lady. “ You under- 
stand me only too well, but I will make it plainer 
for you, just the same. Annette has been at your 
office very often of late.” 

“ She comes there on business relative to her case 
occasionally, that is true.” 

“ Occasionally, you say ; almost every day, and it 
is dark when she leaves as a rule. Now Ambrose, 
this is no time for subterfuge or evasion. I have 
eyes, and if no one else knows what is going on I 
do. I have kept it strictly to myself and even sat 
on Grill the other day because he ventured to voice 
a suspicion. Your conduct lately toward your wife 
and your apparent indifference to Annette here in 
the house were as clear to me as spring water. 
Ambrose, when a bank cashier becomes most act- 
ive in his church work, it is a good time to learn if 
his bondsmen are good, and to change the safe 
combination. When a married man shows devo- 
tion to a wife whom he has previously neglected it 
is because his love for another woman is a constant 
reminder that he owes some sort of a similar duty 
to his wife. Am I right or not? answer me.” 


The Candle and the Moths ioi 


Ambrose felt that Mrs. Weedahl knew much 
more and also that she had much to say. His 
power of perception and his shrewdness as an ex- 
perienced and fair-minded lawyer were no match 
for the subtlety of the Jewess, whose intuition in 
matters of natural depravity was rendered more 
dangerous by her mature age and the fact that 
questions of conscience were never under any con- 
ditions considered by her in the attainment of an 
object. He could perceive by her manner that too 
much evasion on his part would lower her estimate 
of his good sense, and also perhaps damage An- 
nette in her estimation ; so he decided to admit in 
a general way that her conclusions were not entirely 
wrong. 

“ Mrs. Weedahl,” he said, “ I do esteem Mrs. 
Caldwell very highly, and I felt great sympathy for 
her unfortunate condition ; of course she is now 
independent of me and of you, too, but I have no 
doubt she feels very grateful to both you and I. I 
am also willing to believe that she is not so heart- 
less, but that she feels some little regard for me ; 
but now that she has or will have to-morrow the 
decree of divorce that frees her from her husband 
and the money that will free her from us, she will 
doubtless consider the incident as closed.” 

Mrs. Weedahl looked at him compassionately. 
“ How modest and wise you are, Ambrose. You, a 
judge ; a lawyer, who has had that woman running 
to your office every day, and staying there until you 
had to put her out ; a most lovely and charming 
woman whom you could see lived only in your 
presence, lived only in the sunshine of your smile, 
the music of your voice ; why a blind and deaf 


102 


The Client 


mute would be more susceptible to impressions than 
what you have admitted, and then you say that ‘ she 
perhaps feels some little regard for you ; that she will 
consider the incident closed.’ Bah ! you are slow 
for a lawyer. So, let me tell you something that in 
your stupidity you have failed to see. Annette is 
head over ears in love with you. ” 

Ambrose started forward, clutching at the arms 
of his chair. “ In love ? ” he said. 

“ That’s what I said. In love, gone, completely 
gone, I tell you ; she confessed it to me this after- 
noon.” 

The face of Ambrose was white and rigid, as 
with staring eyes he looked at Mrs. Weedahl, who, 
with cold distinctness and a manner devoid of any 
appearance of feeling, save that of a gratified am- 
bition, thus stated a result which he had in some 
degree foreseen. 

“ She confessed it to you ? ” he said. 

“ Yes, she confessed it. She didn’t want to ad- 
mit it. At first she stoutly and nervously denied 
it; disavowed it totally and repeatedly, but as I 
convinced her that I knew everything, the tears 
came to her eyes, her face grew red and she trem- 
bled from head to foot, and finally when I told her 
that I alone knew these things, and that I would 
never betray, her secret by a look or word to any 
living soul, and that I did not blame her for feeling 
an affection for a man like you, she broke down 
completely and said, ‘ Yes, I do love him with all 
my heart and soul. It is the first time I have ever 
loved a man. I worship him, I idolize him. He is 
my only thought through the day, and I dream of 
him in my sleep. Life in any form apart from him 


The Candle and the Moths 103 

would be a thousand times worse than the ten years 
of hell I endured before I met him,’ and then she 
rushed at me, threw herself in my arms, saying, 
‘ Oh ! Mrs. Weedahl, my heart is breaking ; pity me, 
help me. You are a woman like myself ; tell me 
what to do, for my life is a question in this hopeless 
love,’ and then she hugged me until I thought she 
would break my neck, and kissed me, and then as 
I could not answer her, she left me and throwing 
herself on that sofa, hid her face among the 
cushions, sobbing with grief as if her heart was 
broken indeed.” 

Ambrose sat like one stupefied, cold and motion- 
less. The only visible signs of his agitation were 
in the marble whiteness of his face, his staring eyes, 
and the great beads of perspiration that stood upon 
his brow. Stunned beyond the power to speak by 
what the Jewess had said, his silence seemed deadly 
in its intensity. It was the stillness that precedes 
the bursting of a thunder-storm, and an expression 
of real alarm appeared on the face of the red-eyed 
blonde, who, partly divining his thoughts, hastened 
tremblingly to undo in some degree the wrong she 
had done Annette in thus betraying her. 

“ Of course, Ambrose,” she said, “ I did not feel 
that I was doing any harm in telling you this, for I 
knew or felt that you knew it, and that it would 
perhaps be better for you both, if I told you,” and 
she feebly essayed an ingenuous smile. 

Ambrose arose from his chair, and with a firm 
step approached her. He leaned forward toward 
her and his right hand grasped a plaster figure of a 
miniature Ethiopian that stood upon a heavy carved 
table near the chair in which she was seated. In a 


io4 


The Client 


voice that was hoarse with suppressed emotion he 
said, “ Mrs. Weedahl, as you have learned the truth 
from Annette, you shall be my confessor as well. 
You have repeatedly charged me with having too 
much conscience. You have sought to force me in 
my financial misfortunes to be a willing tool for 
your trickery and deceit. You have sought to use 
me as a lawyer in such a way that my profession as 
well as myself would be degraded. It was you who 
first sent Annette to me. It was you who in the 
guise of a friend brought her into this room where 
you regaled her with wine, as well as overdrawn 
pictures of me. It was you who told her of my 
estrangement from my wife. It was you who 
urged her to come to me every day, and, alas ! 
for once, Mrs. Weedahl, I have been a blind and 
willing tool in the work of ruin you have wrought. 
Your work, and mine also has been well done. So 
hear me as you heard her. I love too, and for the 
first time in my life. I love Annette far more than 
she loves me,” and as he uttered these words he 
crushed the Ethiopian figure to powder as he hurled 
it down upon the oaken table. Then turning upon 
his heel he started to leave the room, but at the 
door he paused, and retracing his steps clutched 
with a grip of iron the arm of the now thoroughly 
frightened woman who faintly screamed with pain 
and terror, as she gazed into his eyes and read 
in them the terrible meaning of the words he 
uttered. 

“ Mrs. Weedahl,” he said, “ you now know all, all, 
only that Annette is still innocent and pure ; but if 
you ever breathe to a living soul one word of the 
confessions you have thus forced from Annette and 


The Candle and the Moths 105 

me, it will cost you your life, and perhaps my own 
as well." 

And then he strode through the hallway and out 
into the street; out into the cool night air. With 
fevered brain and rapid strides he rushed along the 
street whither, he knew not and cared not. He 
only knew that this action was in some degree a 
relief; that the cool wind upon his burning head 
would perhaps save him from madness ; that the 
faster he walked the greater relief he felt, and so he 
increased his speed until he almost ran. He pres- 
ently found himself upon a business thoroughfare 
where many people were walking, and where the 
bright glaring lights of shop windows shone upon 
his grief-stricken face. The boisterous laughter of 
an occasional group of young people as they passed 
jarred upon his disturbed senses, and in pushing 
aside some persons who did not yield him absolute 
right of way as he tore along the street he became 
gradually conscious of the fact that he was not only 
rude, but that he was attracting a degree of public 
attention usually accorded to an unfortunate mortal 
whose mental balance is subject to question. As he 
thus became conscious of the attention he was at- 
tracting, he stopped in front of the bulk window of 
a store in which a variety of fancy goods was dis- 
played, and which was lighted by an arc lamp of in- 
tense brilliancy. Ambrose did not see the contents 
of the window. He gazed fixedly at the glaring 
arc light and felt no pain in doing so. Presently he 
resumed his walk, but less rapidly and the hours 
and distance were unnoted by him. At length 
when nature could endure no more a feeling of the 
relief that exhaustion sometimes brings came over 


io6 


The Client 


him. He paused again and looked around. He soon 
located himself and found that he was at the lower 
end of the business portion of the city. With reel- 
ing steps he supported himself on an iron railing by 
a basement entrance and looking upward, silently 
prayed in his grief and despair. Then surrendering 
himself in absolute submission to his feeling of utter 
helplessness he fell upon a near-by door-step and 
calmly awaited an impulse for further action. The 
struggle in his heart was ended. The years of 
misery he had endured had weakened the moral 
strength of this strong man ; in his hopeless despair 
love’s final assault had triumphed, and in meek sub- 
mission he bowed his head to the conqueror. 

Presently a coupe rumbled along on its way up- 
town. Ambrose arose and staggering into the 
street hailed the driver, who glad to secure a pas- 
senger opened the door of the coupe and assisted 
him to get in. 

“ Take me to the Portland,” was all he said. 

Ambrose slept until late the next morning, and 
then rousing himself he hurriedly dressed and 
ordered some breakfast sent to his room. 
He then started at once for his office and 
on his arrival there he dispatched with feverish 
haste some business demanding his attention. 
Then after luncheon he placed upon his desk An- 
nette’s decree of divorce with other papers and 
securities, as well as a cash payment that had been 
made for her, and impatiently aw r aited the coming 
of his client. As the hours dragged by and she 
did not come a fear for her safety crept into his 
heart, and in his imagination he guessed every 
reason but the correct one for her delay. He had 


The Candle and the Moths 107 

fought over again the battle of the previous even- 
ing, and had determined that his strength of pur- 
pose should be greater than hers, and that he would 
be to the last the man she had estimated him to be. 

Annette did not arrive until four o’clock. She 
came in quietly and extending her hand greeted 
Ambrose as usual, only that he could not fail to ob- 
serve in her manner a reserve that had never 
marked her conduct before. She was attired in the 
same street costume that she had worn on the day 
that she had met Ambrose at the depot at Raleigh. 
She wore on her breast a small corsage bouquet of 
violets, and though her eyes showed in some degree 
the suffering she too had endured on the previous 
evening, she seemed in her pensive manner to ap- 
peal more than ever to the love she had inspired in 
the heart of Ambrose. 

44 I have been worrying about you,” said Am- 
brose, as they seated themselves at his desk. 44 I 
thought perhaps you were ill, but I am glad to find 
that my alarm was needless. I have here your de- 
cree and some securities and cash which I will turn 
over to you. The balance of the court’s award to 
you will be provided for here at my office in a few 
days.” 

Annette signed a receipt for the cash and securi- 
ties, and then said, 44 I am sorry that I kept you 
waiting for me, but I have been busily engaged to- 
day in looking for another home. I shall leave the 
Portland on Monday.” 

44 Indeed,” said Ambrose, 44 do you really mean 
this ? ” 

44 Yes,” said Annette, 44 I have decided to take a 
furnished flat at a place but a few blocks from the 


io8 


The Client 


Portland, known as the Richelieu. My maid whom 
you know will go there with me.” 

She watched Ambrose closely as she said this, 
and eagerly noted the effect her words produced 
upon him. He could not conceal the dejection he 
felt, and his face plainly indicated this feeling. 
Annette then continued, “ I hope you will call 
there to see me, and of course, bring Mrs. Pierce, 
also.” This portion of her invitation was added in 
a lower tone. 

Ambrose felt that he could not look at her and 
retain his self-control, so he arose and without 
a word walked over to the fireplace in which a fire 
was blazing, and seating himself in a huge leather 
chair gazed silently at the fire. Annette remained 
at his desk for a moment and a happy smile ap- 
peared on her face, as she noted the effort he was 
making at self-control ; then feeling that he was 
really disappointed at her decision to leave the 
Portland, and that he felt at least a warm regard for 
her apart from every other consideration, she left 
his desk and seating herself near him, said softly, 
“ Ambrose, you have been more than a friend to 
me. There is no way in which I can repay you. 
Had it not been for you, I know not what my fate 
would have been, and I am selfish enough to ask as 
a last favor that if you cannot come to see me, you 
will let me come here, sometimes, to see you.” 

“ Yes,” said Ambrose, “ come ; why didn’t you 
come yesterday ? I thought you would surely be 
here, and I left word at the office for you to call 
here in the afternoon.” 

He looked at her so intently as he said this that 
Annette felt that there was some hidden meaning 


The Candle and the Moths 109 

in his words and the crimson color in her face was 
her only answer. Then she said, “ Have you seen 
Mrs. Weedahl during the past few days ? ” 

It was now Ambrose’s turn to conceal or tell 
the truth, and he answered with some nonchalance, 
I saw her for a few minutes last evening.” 

“ Where ? ” 

Again Ambrose hesitated, but answered, “ In 
her private parlor.” 

The profound silence of several minutes that fol- 
lowed was broken only by the ticking of a clock, 
and the occasional crackle of the fire. During this 
time their eyes were fixed upon each other. The 
silence was broken by Annette. 

“ Did she say — did she tell you — anything about 
me?” 

Ambrose was silent, and Annette reaching for- 
ward grasped his arm as with burning eyes she 
gazed into his. 

“ Tell me,” she whispered passionately. “ How 
much did she tell you ? ” 

“ All,” said Ambrose. 

“ All?” 

“ Yes, all.” 

Annette sank back in her chair, and the hard ex- 
pression that Ambrose had seen once before, came 
over her face. He could recall but one previous 
occasion when he had noted this expression, and 
that was on the stormy day when she had first 
called on him. He had then interpreted it as a feel- 
ing of degraded resignation inspired by the knowl- 
edge that she must reveal the story of her married 
misery to a stranger. He now felt that it expressed 
a similar feeling of degradation caused by the be- 


I IO 


The Client 


trayal of her passionate and unreserved avowal of 
love for him, and which she was not sure was recip- 
rocated. Her ungloved hand shielded her eyes in 
her silent embarrassment, but at length leaning for- 
ward she gazed at Ambrose so intently that her look 
gave all needed emphasis to the faint tone of her 
next inquiry. 

“ And what — did you — say to her ? ” 

“ I confessed to her that I loved you far more 
than you loved me.” 

As Ambrose uttered these words, the eyes of 
Annette fell beneath his gaze, and she stared fixedly 
at the fire in silence. He arose, and, with folded 
arms, stood erect in front of the fireplace. A stick 
of wood burned in twain, fell in a bed of coals, and 
the stillness was broken only by the crackling of the 
flames that followed. Ambrose seemed to note 
only the flickering shadows on the wall, but at length 
his thoughts again found expression. His agitation 
was plainly evidenced by the secret he revealed, and 
his tones were marked by a gasping quickness and 
abrupt explosive force, as he said : 

“ Years ago — an old friend of mine — in the in- 
sanity and misery that, if endured in silence, leads 
to suicide — confided to me the secret of his heart. 
No harm can come from telling his secret now. 
He was a fine-looking, manly fellow, — for many 
years a young bachelor ; — flirted with lots of girls, — 
never fell in love ; — got tired of trying to fall in 
love ; — decided to get married anyhow ; — thirty years 
old ; — picked out stylish society girl, — more or less 

congenial Became engaged to her ; — no love, 

mere business courtesy Date set for wedding 

— she introduced him to her chum, — sweet, pretty 


The Candle and the Moths 1 1 1 


girl, — golden hair. Engaged girls shouldn’t intro- 
duce their chums that way, — or perhaps they 

should, — I don’t know My friend fell in love 

with the chum at once He didn’t think it was 

real love, though Thought it was the same 

kind of a — er — neuralgia — he had had so often be- 
fore Cupid is such a provoking rascal 

Never gets into a game at the right time Al- 
ways too early or else too late Of course my 

friend was in a fix If he gave up to the girl 

he was engaged to, her. chum would cut him dead, 
— and then too he was an honorable fellow — so he 

let things go on and got married as agreed 

Then they had a home in the country. Chum girl 
came often, — every week ; — seemed to like the hus- 
band almost as well as she did the wife Wife 

apologized for chum coming so often Hus- 

band said, ‘ Oh ! he didn’t care — nice, cheerful 

girl Rather liked to see her around.’ Chum 

went to summer resorts with them Drives — golf 

— dancing, etc. Many times near the whirlpool 

— floated away again With the husband the 

chum was always charming and free Patted 

him on the shoulder Such a nice boy — inno- 
cently she forced him to set a limit of decorum 

Hard job for a husband who was trying to be good 
under aggravating conditions He wasn’t de- 
signed to be a Mark Tapley- Three years 

passed away No improvement, — bad to 

worse Moonlight night June 

Wife away Two weeks’ visit Husband 

alone in summer-house on lawn Sees charm- 

ing girl coming toward him The chum of 

course. ‘ No, she isn’t home Been away over 


I 12 


The Client 


a week I was quite lonely Stay and 

console me/ he says She remains some 

time There isn’t anything to talk about 

Absence of interested party forces naked truth to 

surface His nudity is apparent Evening 

dress won’t do They are standing side by side 

in the summer-house Both intently looking 

at some miserable little flower that grows on a 
vine Heads rather close together Diffi- 

cult breathing — — He don’t know just how it 
happened, but his hand is resting lightly on her 

shoulder He swore to me he didn’t know how 

it got there But she didn’t mind it at all 

He was surprised — bewildered — intoxicated — tem- 
perature 108 — pulse 109 They are still gazing 

intently at the flower which of course in the semi- 
darkness, they cannot see The pressure of his 

hand is heavier It burns upon her shoulder 

Poor, miserable little flower They had never 

seen anything so wonderful before She is 

speaking 4 It has a rather subtle, undefinable 

odor Did he know its name?’ ‘Oh! Con- 

volvulus Lapidora/ he said, guessing at it wildly. 
His other hand was holding hers 4 The sim- 

plest flowers have most horrible Latin names you 

know.’ Both tried to laugh, but sighed instead 

4 Do you understand Latin ? ’ she says, — flag still 

flying. 4 Oh, yes ’ 4 And German ? ’ 4 Oh, yes, 

no, what did you say? No, I don’t know the first 

thing about Latin and German Did I say I 

did ? How strange I don’t know what I did 

say— * His right hand was firmly grasping her 

shoulder, and the perfume of her hair was more 
perceptible to him than the odor of the jessamine, 


The Candle and the Moths 113 

— decorous pretense was thrown to the winds, — and 
as she trembled in his embrace, — they confessed 

their love Well 

“ Their secret love lasted for over two years — sighs 

— bliss — grief — joy — and all that sort of thing 

Then she disappeared Wrote him a letter, — 

away off somewhere Thousand miles — said 

she had married an old man Would never see 

him again Begged him to forgive and forget 

— conscience — despair Then he came to me 

— stark raving mad — Wanted to shoot him- 
self He was deaf to reason — sense all gone 

Above the noise he made, I shouted for him to go 

and shoot the old man A year or so after this, 

she wrote to him again Begged him to come 

and see her He went — found her dying with 

consumption Living skeleton — just able to 

lift her hand Old man husband a myth 

She hadn’t married at all He would give his 

life to save her Consulted great doctors 

They shook their wise old heads Said tuber- 

culosis — phthisis Scientific names of diseases, 

they did not understand Rot Miserable 

rot They either could not or would not un- 
derstand A man or woman who can feel is so 

born Many can never know Some peo- 
ple mentally — can enjoy or suffer more in a year 

than others can in a lifetime God pity 

them — for the blood of humanity is hot or cold ac- 
cording to the degree in which the senses have been 

perfected The fires of passion — the unspoken 

words — the silent agony — the joy — the misery 

The fight of conscience against fate for the sake of 
virtue — with fate the conqueror These are the 


The Client 


114 

things that kill And the wise doctors also 

talked to him about infinitesimal microbes 

Bah! — Of course the girl died But in the 

original sin that Adam and Eve transmitted to 

posterity To some a perfected heritage for 

bliss or woe — lay the cause and cure of her disease 
— as it does with all who are so afflicted/’ 

Annette pale and motionless still sat gazing 
silently into the fire, her hands rigidly clasping the 
arms of her chair ; but she said not a word, and Am- 
brose continued as before, — 

“ Last night after my interview with Mrs. 
Weedahl, instead of taking the elevator I took a 

walk Oh ! quite a walk — about three hours, — 

at least twenty miles At midnight when I 

could go no further, and sat down to rest on a 
stone step near the wharves — I thought of my 
friend — I had at heart always condemned him for 

his weakness in the summer-house But last 

evening — at midnight — I forgave him ” 

At this moment the door leading from Adolph’s 
room was opened with more or less preliminary 
noise, and simultaneously a gentle cough was heard. 
Adolph by some strange intuition seemed to feel 
that his cough was now permissible, and we might 
add that no remonstrance implied or otherwise, 
seemed forthcoming from either the lawyer or his 
client. Adolph wore his overcoat and with hat in 
hand announced that he was about to leave for the 
day. 

Ambrose nodded assent, and as Adolph closed 
the outer door after him, they heard the dead-latch 
click and the sound of his footsteps, as he w r ent 
down the stairs. 


The Candle and the Moths 115 

When Ambrose reached home that evening it 
was past the dinner hour, and as he stopped at the 
office for his mail, he noticed on one of the letters 
that the clerk gave him, the handwriting of his 
wife. He nervously tore open the envelope and 
read, as follows : — 

“ My Dear Ambrose : 

“ I am going out to supper with sister, — and 
will not be home until late. When you go to your 
room, don’t forget to look at your beautiful wife. 

“ Margaret.” 

Ambrose hastened to his apartments, and on the 
chiffonier in his room, in a gilt frame, was the ivory 
type photo of his wife, looking up at him with the 
loving smile which he himself had suggested. 


CHAPTER VIII 


DETECTIVES— AMATEUR AND PROFESSIONAL 

The day following the events we have narrated 
was Sunday, and Ambrose, who slept until late, was 
aroused by the ringing of church bells. This sum- 
mons to duty did not fall upon heedless ears. In 
its effect upon him at this particular moment, it was 
a most unwelcome sound. A sense of undefinable 
horror filled his heart and mind. Alone with his 
thoughts, and with his mind clear and free from all 
counteracting influences he felt that in his capacity 
of lawyer and judge he should banish from his 
thoughts every consideration of a conscience that 
inspired fear and foreboding, and analyze from a 
cold judicial standpoint if possible the love that 
had conquered him. 

The harsh and increasing clamor of the church 
bells, as they smote his sense of hearing and his 
perturbed mind, seemed to voice only the seventh 
commandment, and their discordant notes added to 
the feeling of despair that ran riot in his heart and 
filled him with such an overpowering sense of guilt 
that his brain was incapable of rational thought. 
The bright sunshine that streamed into his room, 
and the balmy air of a spring morning that breathed 
softly through his window, were disturbing elements 
to his soul. For thus doth a guilty conscience ac- 
cept as its accuser the pure and undefiled attributes 
of God. 


Detectives 


"7 

Presently the bells ceased ringing, and as the last 
notes died away, Ambrose said, “ I have been wil- 
fully true and deliberately, but unintentionally false. 
For many years I have for the sake of respectability, 
daily endured curses and insults. For many years 
as a reason of this I have been true in law, but false 
in feeling. I married, and while marriage brought 
me perpetual punishment, in one way it perhaps 
gave a character to my life that I should not other- 
wise have possessed. Possibly the lash was neces- 
sary, though when it was wielded ceaselessly by a 
weak and coarse intelligence, could it be expected 
to inspire a love that had never existed ? And yet, 
* Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth/ ” thought 
Ambrose, and here he paused. “ My duty to my- 
self lies in the path of my duty to God, and yet 
‘ God is love,’ and teaches love. Do I love An- 
nette? Does she love me? Yes, a thousand 
times, yes, and if so, — we, — but no, I must never 
admit this truth ; I must die if need be rather than 
admit it, even to myself,” and he passed his hand 
over his eyes and brow, as if to brush away a 
vision of happiness that he had no right to gaze 
upon. Then he went on, “ I have all my life sought 
for ideals, but how strange it is that even before or 
since my marriage I never found a woman who in- 
spired in me more than a passing interest, until An- 
nette came to me. Love was such an unknown 
quantity in my nature, that at the age of thirty-one 
years I abandoned all hope of ever feeling a real 
love for any woman and married in obedience to an 
impulse inspired by a regard for my personal wel- 
fare alone. The other night I placed the blame 
upon Mrs. Weedahl. That was wrong. She did 


1 18 


The Client 


her part, it was true, but I was the actual offender. 
I can understand why I love Annette, but why does 
she love me ? I never made the slightest effort to 
win her love. Physically I am very plain and 
unattractive. I never gave her a flower, neither did 
I go to her. She came to me. I loved her from 
the first hour that I met her. Ah, yes, my love was 
evident, in spite of my efforts to conceal it, and 
thus I unconsciously inspired affection in her. 
Yet,” and here he frowned, “ Mrs. Weedahl 
poisoned her mind, and noting her love for me 
sought through this agency to blind her sense of 
virtue, and how ably she can do this sort of work 
when she tries. My preceptors in vice in the past 
have never succeeded half so well as this woman, 
whom fate has marked for their successor. This 
woman, who coming into my life of misery has 
finished so well the work they left undone. And 
what part did the miserable gossips in this house 
play in this first act of a drama that promises to be 
a tragedy ? I would not have sought her. I would 
never have created an intimacy. She would never 
have sought me save for business alone. I should 
never have discovered her idyllic nature, for our 
public intercourse would have rendered such a thing 
impossible. I should have considered her merely 
an amiable woman. She would have considered 
me perhaps a good-natured, kind-hearted man ; she 
would have found congenial society here, and her 
own virtue as well as mine would have been saved. 
But, she was literally driven to me by a combina- 
tion of circumstances that would seem to have been 
inspired by the powers of darkness alone. Her 
husband, after her ten years of devotion and sacri- 


Detectives 


119 

fices, for the sake of virtue, struck her down like a 
beast, and then the women of this house openly 
placed the stamp of society’s approval upon his 
conduct by continuing the persecution that he had 
left unfinished. 

“ We are like two vases formed from clay ; apart 
we could have floated for an indefinite time on the 
ocean of life, but which when forced into hard and 
repeated contact by the waves of evil destiny, 
must one or both be broken and go down to oblivion. 
And, thus has been forced upon me a dream of 
Paradise, from which I awaken only to realize a 
greater depth of misery. This problem is one that 
must be solved for me by the destiny that created it. 
Its solution is beyond me now.” 

As Ambrose went through his wife’s apartment 
he found that she had not returned the night before, 
but as he knew that she frequently in thus visiting 
her relatives stayed over Sunday, he felt no un- 
easiness. As he was taking coffee and rolls in his 
room, a bell-boy notified him that she had ’phoned 
to know if he would come out to dinner, and was 
waiting at the ’phone for an answer. He replied 
that he did not care to go out, but that she should 
spend the day with her sister if she felt so disposed. 
He spent the greater part of the day in the hotel 
exchange, smoking and reading. Mrs. Weedahl 
who had been watching for him, and who had not 
seen him since their interview of Friday evening 
was very anxious to show him that “ Sufferance was 
the badge of her tribe,” and her greeting was some- 
what timid, but effusive and cordial. She knew that 
she could not afford to quarrel with him, but her 
manner toward him now was one which while it 


120 


The Client 


indicated some sense of guilt and shame was 
galling to Ambrose in the fact that it also showed 
a sense of her depraved power over him in the 
possession of his heart’s secret. She seated herself 
beside him on a sofa and tried hard to be agreeable, 
but she mistook the look of repugnance that was 
fixed upon his face for one of anxiety, so she said, 
“ Don’t worry, Ambrose, a little flirtation will never 
do any harm if you ^e careful to tie strings to your 
smiles.” 

Annette did not appear down-stairs until evening 
at dinner. Ambrose waited in the exchange until 
he saw her enter the dining-room, and a moment 
later he followed her. They thus dined alone at 
separate tables, but a few yards apart, and were so 
seated that they faced each other. Annette wore 
an unassuming dress of black trimmed with lace of 
the same color and which seemed by contrast to 
emphasize the marble whiteness of her face in 
whose softened lineaments her emotions were re- 
vealed to Ambrose, as their eyes met occasionally, 
or which were rendered expressionless as the light 
of love was hidden beneath her drooping lashes. 
The invisible barrier to their complete and lawful 
happiness was none the less potent in its influence 
upon them, and Ambrose by a few stealthy glances 
about the dining-room discovered that Mrs. Brown- 
Jones and others had eyes only for the tables at 
which Annette and himself were seated. He then 
hurried through his dinner without again looking at 
Annette, and leaving the dining-room paced to and 
fro along a corridor near the elevator. As he 
thus waited in the hope of speaking to Annette, 
Mrs. Brown-Jones in the company of two other 


Detectives 


I 2 I 


ladies came along the hall. They stopped as 
Ambrose bowed and politely greeted them. 

“Oh, judge/' said Mrs. Brown-Jones, “how 
utterly disconsolate you look waiting here for your 
wife. I shall certainly express my pity for you by 
describing to her your doleful countenance and 
your evident anxiety about her, and shall warn her 
under penalty of my displeasure never to leave you 
all alone again." 

Ambrose responded to this bit of crocodile gush 
with his most amiable smile and dulcet tones. 

“ It is so good of you, Mrs. Brown-Jones, to show 
a degree of interest in me, similar to that which 
you manifest toward so many others, and I assure 
you that I appreciate to its full value the broad 
range and nature of your interest in humanity. I 
place an equal value on the penetration you have 
just shown in divining the cause of my doleful face 
and apparent anxiety. Most women feel a 
pardonable pride in the knowledge that their 
husbands are anxious and lonely when they are 
absent, and I am quite sure that Mrs. Pierce will 
gladly learn from you that my appearance and 
manner have indicated this." 

The three ladies then entered the elevator and 
went to their apartments, and a few minutes later, 
Annette came out. A slight shadow of fear came 
over her face as she saw that Ambrose was waiting 
for her, which was followed by a smile of pleasure, 
as he motioned for her to enter a small reception- 
room which was vacant at the time. 

“ I have been wishing all day that I could see 
you," said she, speaking quickly and with low tone 
and hurried breathing ; “ but I did not know how to 


122 


The Client 


arrange it. I imagined that if I saw you openly 
every one would read my secret. I must leave 
here in the morning, and I do not want any one 
here, not even Mrs. Weedahl, to know where I go. 
The only address I shall leave for mail or callers 
will be your office. I must go around to the 
Richelieu this evening to make a payment and 
complete my arrangements there, so that I can go 
in the morning. Dare you, — can, — will you go 
there with me? I would ask Grill to go, only I 
don’t want him or any one else to know, only you,” 
she said. “ I shall be known there by my maiden 
name, Borden, and so to all the world but you, will 
drop out of existence. I would not ask you to go 
with me, only that some one as a matter of 
propriety should answer for me, and you as my 
attorney could best do this.” 

Ambrose gladly agreed to accompany her, and a 
few minutes later they went out together. 

The following morning Annette took an early 
breakfast in her room ; then with her faithful maid 
she quietly left the Portland, never to return, and 
her name of Caldwell was lost in the gray mists of the 
morning, as she walked to her new home. 

Several weeks then passed without incident 
worthy of note, save that Ambrose and Annette 
saw each other as often as possible, chiefly at the 
Richelieu, and occasionally at his office, but never 
elsewhere. 

One afternoon in May as Ambrose returned from 
luncheon to his office he was informed by Adolph 
that sheriff Caldwell and “ Bob ” Wrenn, the 
Raleigh constable and detective, were waiting to see 
him. Ambrose frowned at the information thus 


Detectives 


123 


given by Adolph, for he realized that as Annette’s 
decree of divorce had been granted, and as he 
knew the sheriff felt some animosity for him, he 
assumed that his call was not inspired by a desire 
to be sociable with him or to favor either himself or 
Annette. As he entered his office he found the 
sheriff seated by a window while Mr. Wren was 
standing in front of a portrait of an ancient jurist in 
wig and gown, apparently deeply engrossed in its 
contemplation. The greetings exchanged between 
the sheriff and Ambrose were laconic and formal, 
but that of “ Bob ” was somewhat hilarious and 
quite free from any evidence of ill feeling. 

“ I say, judge,” said “ Bob,” “ I was jest lookin’ 
at your pictures and statuary. You've got a hull 
grist of it here fer sure. I always did like to look 
at these old fellows and have often wondered how 
they managed to keep their hair combed so slick. 
You don’t mind me lookin’ around, do you, judge ? ” 

“ Not at all,” said Ambrose. “ Don’t miss any- 
thing.” 

This last caution was not needed, for Bob did not 
intend to miss anything, and Ambrose fully under- 
stood that the interest he showed in his antiquities 
was trifling indeed as compared with that which he 
felt for evidence bearing upon recent events. He 
felt that the nature of their business with him was 
not a matter that would be openly and frankly dis- 
cussed, so he considered that his present duty would 
be to talk with the sheriff and to watch Mr. Wrenn. 
This assumption of Ambrose proved to be justified 
by the conduct of his callers, for Bob indifferently 
continued his inspection in silence, while the sheriff, 
the odor of whose breath polluted the air of the 


124 


The Client 


room, moved his chair close to the desk and with a 
hang-dog manner and suspicious gaze, addressed 
himself to Ambrose. 

“ Judge, where is my wife?” 

“ Whom do you mean ? ” said Ambrose. 

“ You know who I mean, even if she is not my 
wife ; I mean Annette ; where is she ? ” 

“ This office is her business address, and I as her 
attorney am authorized to transact business for 
her. What do you want?” 

“ I want to know were she lives ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you.” 

“ You mean you won't tell me.” 

“ Exactly, I won’t tell you.” 

The sheriff nodded his head in a rather ludicrous 
acquiescence, and as he shifted uneasily in his chair 
he seemed somewhat at loss as to what he should do 
next. Ambrose utterly indifferent to him had all 
along closely followed the movements of the restless 
Bob, and who now seated on a tufted leather divan, 
seemed to be somewhat ill at ease as he saw that 
Ambrose was giving him the undivided attention of 
his eyes. Ambrose saw Bob remove something 
from a leather fold of the divan, but the object was 
so small that it was completely concealed by his 
hand. He also saw Bob look down in the space be- 
tween the end of the divan and a bookcase. Pres- 
ently Bob sneezed and then sneezed again. He 
then drew from his pocket a handkerchief and blew 
his nose, but in replacing the handkerchief in his 
pocket while looking elsewhere he missed his 
pocket and the handkerchief fell over the end 
of the divan. 

“ Blame me, if there don’t go my handkerchief,” 


Detectives 


125 


said Bob, and reaching down over the end of the 
divan he soon secured it and thrust it into his pocket, 
but he had secured other objects of trifling im- 
portance at the same time, and which went into his 
pocket along with the handkerchief. After this 
Bob appeared to be more or less bored by the turn 
that the sheriff’s hunt for information was taking 
and opened a book which lay upon a table within 
easy reach. The book was a copy of Lord Byron’s 
poems, and a book-mark and pencil notes indicated 
that the verses on that page were of special interest. 
Bob was not known in the social world as an ad- 
mirer of either Byron or Browning, but no devotee 
at the shrine of Pegasus ever worked harder than 
did Bob on this occasion, in his efforts to obtain a 
proper conception of the verses, and which with his 
native shrewdness he rightly judged had some bear- 
ing upon the business he was supposed to be look- 
ing after. So while the sheriff and Ambrose con- 
tinued their interview, Bob continued his perusal of 
the poem, which in order that the reader may prop- 
erly appreciate later developments, is herewith re- 
produced in full. 

“ In slumber, I pray thee, how is it 
That souls are oft taking the air, 

And paying each other a visit, 

While bodies are, heaven knows where ? 

“ Last night ’tis in vain to deny it, 

Your soul took a fancy to roam, 

For I heard her on tiptoe, so quiet, 

Come and ask whether mine was at home. 

** And mine, let her in with delight, 

And they laughed and they talked the time through, 
For when souls come together at night, 

There’s no telling what they mayn’t do. 


126 


The Client 


“ And your little soul, heaven bless her, 

Had of much to complain and to say, 

Of how sadly you wrong and oppress her 
By keeping her prisoned all day. 

“ If I happen, said she, but to steal, 

For a glance now and then to her eye 
Or to quiet the fever, I feel, 

Just to venture abroad on a sigh. 

“ In an instant she frightens me in, 

With some phantom of prudence or terror, 

For fear I should stray into sin, 

Or what is still worse into error. 

“ Upon hearing this piteous confession, 

My soul looking tenderly at her, 

Said, as for grace and discretion, 

He didn’t know much of the matter. 

“ But to-morrow sweet spirit he said, 

Be at home after midnight, and then, 

I will come when your lady’s in bed, 

And we’ll talk o’er the matter again. 

“ So she whispered a word in his ear, 

( I suppose to her door to direct him ) 

And to-morrow at midnight my dear, 

Your polite little soul may expect him.” 

The sheriff and Ambrose in the meantime had 
continued their interview. 

“ Well, judge, if you don’t want to tell me where 
Annette lives, it won’t be hard for me to find out. I 
inquired at the Portland for her, and they said she 
had moved and the only address they had was your 
office. Now another thing, judge, I have heard 
that before she got her decree she came here pretty 
often, a little oftener than was necessary, eh, 
judge ? ” 


Detectives 


127 

“ She never came here except when I wanted to 
see her,” said Ambrose. 

“ I understand, and you wanted to see her nearly 
every day. You thought I would be a rather hard 
proposition and you didn’t want to lose any 
chances,” and the sheriff made an effort at a sar- 
castic smile. “ But that’s all right, judge, I don’t 
care how much she comes here or how much she 
goes somewhere else. I want to see her on a little 
matter of business, and I don’t propose to see her 
at your office.” 

“ Then,” said Ambrose, “ you will perhaps see 
her in court.” 

“ No, I won’t see her in court either; but that is 
all you can know about the matter now,” and then 
as if he felt that he possessed power enough to defy 
Ambrose he said, “ You got your ten thousand, but 
you won’t get the nine hundred a year.” 

“ Well, sheriff,” said Bob, who began to antici- 
pate trouble, “ I don’t see much use in askin’ the 
judge about the lady. It ain’t his business to give 
addresses when he don’t want to, and it seems to 
me he has hinted that he ain’t entirely willing to 
tell us where the lady is. We had better go out 
meekly and submissively, and take a train for 
Raleigh, for I have a sort of a feelin’ that the judge 
considers us ‘ nit person au gratin,’ as they say 
down in Washington.” 

As Bob said this, he partly turned toward the 
window, but Ambrose caught the reflection of Bob’s 
wink in the eye of the sheriff. As they were about 
to leave his office, Ambrose said, 

“ Perhaps I had better warn you, sheriff, not to 
molest your former wife in any way. You have no 


128 


The Client 


claim whatever upon her, and any trouble you may 
cause her except by due process of law, must be 
answered for to me.” 

The sheriff made no reply to this, and he and 
Bob went out together. After they had gone, Am- 
brose realized that the sheriff and the wily Bob 
meant to cause trouble for Annette, and that as the 
sheriff had stated that he would not invoke the aid 
of the law, Ambrose could only assume that she 
was to be the victim of some cruel treachery at the 
hands of her former husband. He paced the floor 
of his office in deep thought for several minutes, 
and then said, “ Yes, I must aid them in finding her, 
but in such a way that they will not suspect my as- 
sistance. I will be their dupe for the time being 
— an innocent party to the game. Bob secured 
some evidence while on that divan, and we will learn 
later on what he discovered.” 

Ambrose smiled broadly and then laughed out 
loud, as with firm decision he walked into Adolph’s 
room, and took down the telephone receiver and 
called up the Richelieu. 

“ Is that you, Annette ?” 

“ No, I cannot come to-day.” 

“Yes, l am quite well, thank you, but very 
busy.” 

“ No, I cannot come to-morrow, either, but I 
want you to come here.” 

“ Why, nothing particular, only to sign a paper, 
a formality in connection with your recent case. 
You had better come in about two o’clock.” 

“ Adolph,” said Ambrose, “ we must protect 
Annette from the sheriff, so I have asked her to 
come here in order that Bob Wrenn may follow her 


Detectives 1 29 

when she leaves here and find out where she 
lives.” 

Adolph was so accustomed to his master’s pecul- 
iar methods of business that even though he felt 
that the kind of protection thus proposed was ques- 
tionable, he bowed his head in prompt assent. 
Ambrose then continued : — 

“ He has employed Bob to look her up, and we 
shouldn’t make the job too expensive for him ; also 
if we keep them waiting for Annette to come here 
it will interfere with my plans and perhaps spoil 
them. If they don’t trace Annette to the Richelieu 
sooner or later they will trace me there. So we 
will quietly help them to make a quick job of see- 
ing her. I must ask you to do a little more detect- 
ive work, Adolph, so while Bob is watching for 
Annette you can watch Bob, and under my direc- 
tion you can take care of subsequent developments. 
I am greatly obliged to the sheriff for calling here 
to-day, and showing his hand a little, and so won’t 
begrudge Bob any little evidence he may have ob- 
tained to help him along. Bob isn’t a bad fellow 
at all ; he simply works for the man who pays him, 
and we all do that more or less.” 

Out on the street, as they walked along, Bob and 
the sheriff discussed the events of their call on Am- 
brose. 

“ Well, Bob,” said the sheriff, “ we didn’t find out 
very much.” 

“ Rome wasn’t built in a day, sheriff,” said Bob, 
“ and you shouldn’t say ‘ we ’ because I did learn a 
little. I found several articles of more or less value.” 

“ I thought I saw you pick up something on the 
sofa ; what was it ? ” 


130 


The Client 


“ Oh ! nothin' much, jest a little every-day 
hair-pin. The judge has a wife, you know, 
sheriff." 

The sheriff looked at the stoical face of his com- 
panion, as he replied, — 

“ Yes, that’s a fact, Bob, so he has.” 

“ There were several little dried up vi’lets on the 
floor which I picked up when I drooped my hand- 
kerchief." 

“ Indeed," said the sheriff, “ violets in a lawyer’s 
office." 

“ Why shouldn’t there be vi’lets in a lawyer’s 
office," said Bob with a burst of indignation. 
“ Hain’t lawyers got a right to buy flowers if they 
wants to ? Suppose a poor little boy as was tryin’ 
to make an honest penny come up in the judge’s 
office sellin’ vi’lets, couldn’t the judge spend five 
cents fer a bunch if he wanted to? And if court- 
ships is called courtships ’cos they ends in court, 
can’t a few vi’lets go along with ’em ? ’’ 

The sheriff was unable to make a fitting argu- 
ment in reply to this and made no attempt to do 
so. So he only said, “ Well, Bob, you did find out 
something. Was there anything more ? ’’ 

“ Yes," said Bob, “ I found this handkerchief and 
picked it up along with my own." 

“ Let me see it," said the sheriff, eagerly, and as 
Bob handed it over to him he examined it carefully. 
It was a diminutive piece of fine linen with the ini- 
tials “ A. B. C." embroidered in one corner. As 
the sheriff carefully examined the handkerchief, Bob 
remarked : — 

“ The judge has a wife, you know, sheriff.” 

“ Yes, Bob, I know,” said the sheriff, and this 


Detectives 


131 

time he laughed, “ but the judge’s wife does not 
have the initials ‘ A. B. C.’ on her handkerchief.” 

“ Mixed in the laundry,” said Bob ; “ laundries is 
terrible careless sometimes,” and then as he noted 
the doubtful smile on the sheriff’s face his own took 
on an expression of owl-like solemnity, as he con- 
tinued, “ Why, sher’ff, you’d hardly believe it but 
one day some years ago a laundry sent me a big 
bundle of duds by mistake, and when I opened it I 
found it was the hull outfit of some fat lady. As I 
inspected the duds and looked ’em over, I jest 
roared. It made me think of the young wife up in 
Maine, who made her little boy his first pair of 
pants, and she made ’em jest as big in front as she 
did in the rear, an’ when she showed the pants to 
the boy’s father, he said, ‘ Mother, them is all right 
pants, but when Bobbie puts ’em on he won’t know 
whether he’s goin’ to school, or cornin’ from school/ 
An’ sher’ff, I’ll be blamed if when I thought I’d 
have to wear them duds, I said, big Bobbie will 
know how to feel for little Bobbie. There’s no use 
talkin’, sher'ff, laundries is terrible careless.” 

“ All right, Bob,” said the sheriff, as he took the 
other souvenirs of their visit, and wrapping them 
in the handkerchief placed them carefully in his 
pocket. “ I noticed you looking at a magazine, and 
also a book. What did you see in them ? ” 

“ Oh,” said Bob, “ I was jest lookin’ at the corset 
and hosiery ‘ ads ’ in the magazine, but the book 
had a poem in it marked with a lead pencil that 
was quite interestin’.” 

“ What was the name of the book ? ” 

“ Why it was called ‘ Bryan’s Poetical Works,’ 
but I never knew that he writ poetry before.” 


i3 2 


The Client 


“ What was the poem about ? ” 

“ Oh, it was about one of these slop-over guys ; 
one of these kind that parts his hair in the middle 
with a bang on each side, ’cos he don’t know 
whether nature intended him for skirts or panta- 
loons. Say, sher’ff,” continued the garrulous Bob, 
“ you know the doctors say that we are eighty per 
cent, water, and that sometimes our brains is all 
water. Do you believe that ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said the sheriff, “ why ? ” 

“ Oh, I’ve seen some fellers melt so when they 
talked to a gal, that I thought the doctors had sized 
’em up that way.” 

“ But what about the poem, Bob?” 

“ Well, it seems that this guy had a soul that got 
gay when he went to sleep and then went out and 
looked over the town a little, while its owner went 
to bed in various places, and then he told a certain 
gal that her soul was gay too, and there wasn’t any 
use of her sayin’ it wasent, ’cos he had heard her 
come around one night in her stocking feet, and 
ask whether his soul was at home, or whether it 
was his lodge night, and he said his soul was at 
home and he was glad to see her, and invited her 
to come in and then he set up the drinks, and they 
had a high old time, and then he said the gal’s soul 
made quite a kick because the gal wouldn’t let her 
loose to any extent. She said she often wanted to 
go out and look around, but the gal always made 
her go back and locked the door on her. The gal 
said if her soul went out without an escort she 
might do something foolish, and then the guy’s 
soul said he didn’t know much about good form, 
but he would buy a book on etekit the next day, 


Detectives 


133 


and then call around the next evening and post her 
up a little. Then the gal’s soul, she gave him the 
real address and told him he would find the latch- 
key under the door-mat. That’s about all there was 
to it,” said Bob, “ but you know, sher’ff, when the 
judge’s wife calls at his office he must entertain her 
in some way, and maybe she likes to hear him read 
Bryan’s poems.” 

“ Well, Bob,” said the sheriff, “ I suppose you can 
find Annette, and I think we have got enough evi- 
dence to work on after we find her. There is no 
doubt in my mind, but that an intimacy exists be- 
tween her and the judge, and you can watch his 
office for her, or follow him to where she lives.” 

“ And then, what next ? ” said Bob. 

“ Well,” said the sheriff, “ Adele shall do the 
rest.” 

Bob then for the first time realized that he was to 
be a party to some very contemptible work, and so he 
made haste to express himself in such a way that 
the sheriff would distinctly understand just how far 
he could count upon his assistance. 

“ Now, see here, sher’ff,” said he, “ I will find 
Annette for you if I can, but when I find her, I 
want you to discharge me. I am willin’ to do 
straight constable work for you, but I don’t want 
to be mixed up in this matter with that gal of 
yours.” 

“ All right, Bob, you tell me where she lives and 
I’ll pay you off.” 

“ I suppose you have calculated, sher’ff,” said Bob, 
“ that Annette is likely to fight a little. You know 
she is great on the purr, but she can scratch too. 
She is a woman who when she drinks champagne 


i34 


The Client 


wants to see the bubbles, and it ain’t likely that she 
will let Adele fool with her.” 

“ You are right, Bob, Annette is a sly one, and 
likes the bubbles, but I think that Dick, Bob and 
Adele will be more than a match for Ambrose, 
Annette and Adolph. That miserable young skunk 
who spotted me at the hotel and then peached on 
me in court looked at me as solemn as an owl to-day 
when he let us in. If I ever get him in a safe 
place, I will leave my mark on him, I promise 
you.” 

“ Be sure to get the safe place first, sher’ff. He 
is one of these still waters that run deep.” 

“ But what do you mean, Bob, by saying that 
Annette purrs ? I never could see any difference 
between a purr and a grunt, or a roar and a chuckle. 
They all mean the same.” 

“ No, they don’t, sher’ff,” said Bob. “ There is a 
vasty difference ’tween ’em, a large difference. 
That’s where you show a little too much grease on 
the brain, sher’ff. Your think tank is slipping cogs, 
and you need more ’Pollinaris and less whiskey. 
The difference between a purr and a grunt is like 
this. A purr is the noise you would make if a 
pretty gal took a seat beside you in a street car, and 
a grunt is the noise you would make if a fat colored 
lady did the same thing. A roar is the noise we 
make when a good customer pays us a big bill and 
then tells us a joke that ain’t worth listenin’ to ; and 
a chuckle is the noise we make after he is gone. 
You see, sher’ff, there is a difference, and Annette’s 
purr is a terrible winnin’ one, and I think like you 
that the judge has felt its pacifyin’ influence more 
or less,” 


Detectives 


135 


“ Well, Bob,” said the sheriff disconsolately, “ I 
don’t care much what happens lately, and you 
mustn’t blame me on the score of whiskey. I’ve 
lost my wife, and now Adele flirts more or less with 
another fellow, and I can’t afford to put up the cash 
required for all this.” 

“ Well, sher’ff,” said Bob, “ you are up against it 
fer a fact, but jest take a little of Bob’s consolation 
and advice. A man’s a fool who will ruin himself 
for any woman. If she is a angel she is too good 
for him. If she is a ordinary gal there is plenty 
more like her. If she is bad, he is lucky to get rid 
of her. In your case, sher’ff, you have lost a good 
angel, and now you are like to lose a bad angel ; 
one was too good fer you ; an’ the other wasn’t 
good enough. I would advise you to sober up ; 
marry one of the ordinary kind, and resolve to be 
good.” 


CHAPTER IX 


RELATIVE TO VISITORS WHO WERE WELCOME 
AND TO OTHERS WHO WERE NOT 

The sheriff arose early the next morning and as 
he did so, he resolved to profit in some degree by 
the advice that the wily Mr. Wrenn had given him 
after they had left the office of Ambrose on the previ- 
ous afternoon, so far as it related to his inordinate use 
of whiskey. He realized that he had not helped his 
own case by the numerous “ bracers ” he had taken 
prior to calling on Ambrose, and that he had shown 
considerable indiscretion in talking so freely, there- 
fore feeling that he needed a clear mind for the busi- 
ness he had on hand, and as he had also determined 
to call on Adele that morning, he omitted his usual 
drams and confined himself to strong coffee. He 
had requested Bob to report to him early that 
morning, but he did not intend that he should 
accompany him when he called on Adele. He felt 
that the detective had made himself very clear in re- 
gard to the nature and extent of his professional serv- 
ices, and he saw at once that he would not be a desir- 
able ally in the completion of the work he had in view. 
He had already decided to depend upon his own 
wits and those of Adele, and to employ as his assist- 
ant a disreputable young fellow who eked out a 
precarious existence as a lawyer, but who was 
generally known as a legal vulture. The name of 
this worthy young man was Burt Strieker, and he 


Relative to Visitors 


137 


had also been requested by the sheriff to call at his 
house that morning. He arrived there a few 
minutes in advance of Mr. Wrenn, and when Bob 
saw him seated in a porch rocker, he quickly under- 
stood in a general way the meaning of his presence. 
He needed no introduction to Mr. Strieker, nor did 
he want one, and so far as he himself was concerned, 
was glad to note this evidence of the sheriff ’s inten- 
tion to relieve him of a disagreeable duty. While 
Mr. Strieker thus waited for the sheriff, Bob went 
into the side yard and noticed that a stable man was 
hitching the sheriff’s trotter to a buggy. The 
sheriff soon appeared, cleanly shaved and faultlessly 
attired. 

“ Hello, sher’ff,” said Bob, “ goin’ out to call on 
her this morning ? ” 

“ Who do you imagine I am to call on, Bob ? ” 

“ Well, you wouldn’t put on them gay duds in 
honor of Burt Strieker, would you ? ” 

The sheriff laughed somewhat uneasily at this 
sally of Bob’s, but made no reply, and Bob 
continued, 

“ I also notice that you are as bright as a daisy, 
and I smell cologne instead of whiskey.” 

“ Well, Bob,” said the sheriff, “ I shall take your 
advice and let whiskey alone for a few days.” 

“ That’s right, sher’ff, you made a bad break 
yesterday when you called on the judge. Doctors, 
druggists and detectives should never drink 
whiskey. Take Bob’s advice again, and make the 
few days a few years.” 

“ Well, Bob,” said the sheriff, “ I want you to go 
in town on the next train, stay there until you find 
Annette, and then report to me.” 


138 


The Client 


“ All right,” said Bob ; “ but what are you goin’ to 
do with Burt Strieker ? You know he is a bad egg, 
and he might break on your hands.” 

“ Well Bob, if you don’t want to do my work, 
you must not question any one else whom I may 
employ.” 

At this moment Mr. Strieker appeared in the 
yard, and without speaking to Bob, he got into the 
waiting conveyance. He was quickly followed by 
the sheriff, who abruptly said, “ good-bye ” to Bob, 
as he rode away in the direction of Berylwood. Bob 
at once went to the depot and as the sheriff and his 
companion drove along discussing the plans the 
sheriff had in mind, we may briefly refer to the 
soiled dove who awaited their coming. 

Adele Moran in appearance was not unlike the 
corrected description that had been made of her by 
Ambrose when he placed his own interpretation 
upon the word picture that Annette had drawn the 
first day she had called upon him. She was rather 
tall, slender and graceful. Her eyes were small and 
bird-like in expression, while her face was some- 
what thin and sharp featured. She possessed a 
profusion of dark auburn hair. Her voice and 
manner were sharp and decisive. She was coarse, 
cruel and imperative, and the low cunning and 
deceit that by reason of necessity regulate the con- 
duct of those who live by their wits, had stamped 
their degraded marks of character upon her every 
feature. She was a woman who would command 
affection rather than ask for it. She would 
ridicule the finer emotions, but would inspire a 
species of submissive animal affection in depraved 
minds. She had thus won and retained the sheriff’s 


Relative to Visitors 


139 


homage. It was thus that her more forceful mind 
had gained the ascendancy over his. She toyed 
with him like a cat with a mouse. Her coarse and 
imperious nature under the most favorable con- 
ditions would have driven from her in horror a man 
of refined emotions. But the sheriff with his weak 
minded brutality had sunk to her moral level and 
submissively kissed the rod with which she ruled 
him. 

And so, in another retrospect, by a brief sum- 
mary of salient facts, we can here make a few timely 
comments and deductions. Two men and two 
women, in the persons of Ambrose and his wife, so 
mismated that in temperament and tastes they 
were as far apart as the poles of the earth, had 
made, what for them, could be nothing else but the 
fatal mistake of marriage. Their experiences, as we 
have so far narrated them, are common examples 
of every-day life. But, as a matter of proper dis- 
crimination and justice, the degree of condemnation 
to which each should be subjected and the meed of 
praise to be accorded each should here be made the 
subject of a brief opinion. Our hero’s wife, a 
woman of strong mind and weak emotions, whose 
only faults were a bad temper and unbridled 
tongue ; a woman of such unquestioned virtue that 
its strength and purity were repellent to ordinary 
mortals, had married a man who in the person of 
our hero, was perhaps in moral strength several 
grades lower than she ; a man who, more or less 
careless and irresponsible by habit had married her 
without love, but had tried to be faithful to his 
marriage vows under conditions which made his 
failure to do this in some degree pardonable. 


140 


The Client 


The unfortunate Annette had fled from a man 
many grades lower in moral strength than she, and 
had given her heart unasked to a supposedly 
superior being in the person of Ambrose, and here 
by the order of destiny it was the fate of two souls, 
congenial in heart and mind, and who loved each 
other from the first moment they met, to find that 
law and self-respect sternly forbade them to enjoy 
in honor the only love they had ever known. The 
sheriff, a man who in the name of business 
propriety assumed several virtues that he did not 
possess, but whose every taste and emotion at heart 
were those of the lower order of animals, had driven 
a lovely wife from him and found congenial 
companionship in a woman who had drained the 
cup of depravity to its dregs, and who by reason of 
the fact that she would not even assume a virtue 
was in moral character, many grades lower than he. 
So without considering this woman as a fifth party 
in the case, we find that of this quartette, the one who 
suffered the greatest wrong was our hero’s wife. A 
wrong for which three persons were directly 
responsible, and the wife herself with many others 
indirectly so. 

Our object in making these deductions is simply 
to prove and grade beyond question the animal in- 
stincts of mankind, without which marriage would 
be impossible, and for the young and innocent, to 
point out the breakers ahead. It would seem as a 
fitting lesson to be drawn from this that the vexed 
question as to the proper length of a courtship is in 
some degree answered, a broken heart is better than 
a ruined life, for broken hearts are always figurative 
diseases, never literal, and a dozen broken engage- 


Relative to Visitors 


141 

ments are better than a marriage which would bring 
a life of misery, or what is even worse, divorce. 

Does not the sad predicament of our hero and 
Annette suggest that the danger of making mis- 
takes in marriage should be reduced to the lowest 
possible minimum ? Should not our affections be 
educated to the greatest possible extent, and should 
not the line of true and false modesty be sharply 
drawn ? Should not an apparently intense and re- 
ciprocated love be considered a fever and treated as 
such until the dross is so consumed that it is subor- 
dinate to the mind instead of the senses ? Should 
it not be treated as a mutually infectious disease in 
which marriage is employed only as a last heroic 
resort to effect a cure ? When a man or woman 
tires of a courtship and breaks the engagement, it 
is almost invariably the best thing that could hap- 
pen for both. Marriage is of course an honest 
duty, but it is also law, and law and duty are sel- 
dom agreeable, and how much real duty do we per- 
form from a feeling of inclination ? And how 
many would obey the law if they could consistently 
evade it ? No person can accept uncongenial com- 
panionship and live in health, even though some 
sense of temporary relief is obtained. A tonic 
will relieve us of debility, but it will act as a poison 
if its use is persisted in. A plant may be benefited 
by a brief exclusion from the light, but it will die if 
kept in the gloom. Some natures there are who, like 
the edelweiss can bloom above the storm and snow, 
and yet retain their form and purity when removed 
to other climes. They appear to be the perfected 
creations of an Almighty Power, and whose mission 
on earth is to inspire hope in the hearts of erring 


142 


The Client 


humanity, but also, like the little Alpine flower, pure 
but emotionless, to our earthly hearts they seem to 
have grown in the unclouded sunlight of heaven 
and nearest to God. 

Adele lived with a woman whom she called her 
aunt, but who was no relation to her whatever. 
She had been advised that the sheriff would call on 
her this morning and was waiting for him on the 
lawn in front of the house when he arrived in com- 
pany with Mr. Strieker. 

“ Hello, Dickey,” said she, leaning over the gate 
as the sheriff alighted and tied his horse, and then 
as Mr. Strieker approached, she continued, “ Who is 
your friend ? ” 

“ Mr. Strieker, Mrs. Moran,” said the sheriff, 
after which introduction the trio went into the 
house. 

“ Now, Dickey bird,” said Adele, tapping the 
sheriff playfully on the shoulder, “ how about cash 
this morning ? Mind now, I don’t like this paying 
of nine hundred a year to a woman who is no re- 
lation to you, and when you don’t even know where 
she lives, while I, your best friend, am left to go 
hungry, and I tell you right now that I don’t intend 
to stand it much longer, and keep quiet. Do you 
hear, Dickey bird ? I will make a noise, I tell you.” 

“ But, Adele,” said the sheriff, “ you know ” 

“ I don’t know anything except that my board 
bill here is unpaid, and I am waiting for you to put 
up some cash.” 

“ Well, Adele, I called on Judge Pierce yesterday, 
you know Judge Pierce, of course, and ” 

“ Yes,” said Adele with a scornful smile, “ I know 
Ambrose only too well. Did the judge tell you to 


Relative to Visitors 


143 

pay me twenty thousand cash and nine hundred a 
year ? ” 

“ Hush, Adele, you must listen to me,” said the 
sheriff. “ I have a plan by which the nine hundred 
a year now being paid to Annette can just as well 
be paid to you.” 

“ And did Judge Ambrose advise you to transfer 
this money to me ? It seems to me you are talking 
like a fool, Dick. What do you mean, anyhow ? ” 

“ I mean,” said the sheriff, “ that Ambrose and 
Annette are evidently very much in love with each 
other.” 

“ What ? ’ * said Adele. “ Why, Judge Pierce in 
love with your divorced wife ? A saint such as he ; 
a married man in love with Annette, impossible ! ” 

The sheriff then exhibited the souvenirs of his 
visit of the previous day, and narrated in detail all 
that had transpired, also much more that he sus- 
pected. He told her that Bob Wrenn was en- 
gaged in the work of locating Annette, and that as 
soon as his plans were completed he desired Adele 
in company with Mr. Strieker to call on Annette 
and force her under threat of exposure to relinquish 
all claims upon him. Mr. Strieker who had been 
well posted by the sheriff as to the part he should 
play remained silent during his recital, and Adele’s 
expression of contempt for the sheriff changed to 
one of undisguised admiration, as she foresaw even 
more than he the almost certain success of his plan ; 
so she patted him on the cheek rather affectionately, 
as she said : — 

“ Dickey, you are a birdy-bird, and your game is 
bound to win. Just give me five hundred in ad- 
vance right now, please.” 


144 


The Client 


“ Not to-day.” 

“ Well, next week will do. Ambrose in love ? It 
is too funny to think of. Surely you are wrong, 
Dick ; there must be some mistake.” 

“ There is no mistake, Adele. Do your part 
when we are ready, and the game is won.” 

Adele for a moment seemed absorbed in deep 
thought, and then a hard cruel expression came 
over her face. This was succeeded by one of con- 
scious power, as she seemed to realize more fully 
than did the sheriff, the certainty of success. She 
looked upon her visitors as a despotic queen would 
look upon her slaves, and her voice and attitude in- 
dicated the confidence she felt as she said, — 

“ All right, Dick, hurry up the business ; I will be 
ready when you are. Your scheme is a good one, 
but if she defies us, or resorts to a subterfuge to 
gain time in order to consult Ambrose ” 

“ I will take care of that matter,” said Mr. 
Strieker, interrupting her. “ I will have already pre- 
pared in due form a proper release for the sheriff 
which she must sign then and there. She will not be 
given time to consider or delay matters. We of course 
must be prepared for a remonstrance on her part, 
but we will demand immediate compliance under 
threat of immediate exposure. You see there is 
little doubt of a satisfactory result,” and the freckled 
face and watery eyes of Mr. Strieker beamed with a 
reptilian smile. 

“ Well,” said Adele, “ I was about to say that if 
your scheme should fail, I can bring her to her 
knees with an idea of my own.” 

When all arrangements had been fully discussed 
and definitely understood, the sheriff and his worthy 


Relative to Visitors 


145 


companion took their departure and drove home- 
ward; while Adele, enjoying the bright May sun- 
shine, strolled over to Berylwood, where from the 
noise and bustle they were making it seemed as 
though a regiment of mechanics and landscape 
gardeners were at work, and — as this precious trio 
— these actors in the opening scenes of a tragedy 
thus temporarily leave the stage, we turn our atten- 
tion to others who must now appear. 

On arriving in the city, Bob secured a front room 
in a lodging house nearly opposite the office of 
Ambrose, from the window of which he could dis- 
tinctly observe every one who entered or left the 
building. Promptly at two o’clock, Annette called 
on Ambrose as she had been requested to do, and 
as Bob saw her go in he felt that his services for the 
sheriff would be dispensed with that evening. Ashe 
carefully watched for Annette to leave he saw Adolph 
come out with a large envelope in his hand, and who 
without pausing or looking in any direction hur- 
ried away, and was soon lost to view around a corner. 
As Bob then idly continued his vigil, he began 
to speculate on the meaning of Adolph’s apparent 
errand, and he chuckled softly to himself as he said, 
“ Mebbe he sent Adolph out jest so he wouldn’t be 
in fer a little while, or mebbe the big envelope was 
real business ; well, I am not tryin’ to ketch Adolph, 
so I don’t care what the big envelope was for.” 

We may thus infer that Bob was not infallible in 
his deductions, otherwise he would have followed 
Adolph instead of waiting for Annette. A few 
minutes after Adolph’s departure Annette appeared, 
and without suspecting that she was being watched, 
walked slowly away. Ambrose, for good reason, 


The Client 


146 

had not informed her of the real facts ; first because 
he did not desire to worry her needlessly, and sec- 
ondly because her complete innocence of danger 
would enable him to give her greater protection. 
He had only requested her to go straight home, 
which she had promised to do. 

When Bob saw her depart, he at once hurried 
down-stairs and was seen by Ambrose through a 
closely-shaded window, as he followed Annette at a 
respectful distance. Annette walked to an up-town 
car, which she boarded, and was followed unseen by 
Bob, who remained on the rear platform. They 
thus rode up-town, and when Annette arose to leave 
the car, Bob immediately jumped off, and as before 
followed her at a distance until he saw her enter the 
Richelieu. After satisfying himself by inquiry of 
the janitor that she resided there, Bob retraced his 
steps and boarded a down-town car, and then Adolph, 
who from the window of the drug store opposite the 
Richelieu had carefully noted the movements of the 
detective, went immediately to the office of Ambrose, 
and informed his master of Bob’s success. A pro- 
longed consultation was then held by Ambrose and 
Adolph, at the termination of which, a conditional 
method of procedure was agreed upon, and which 
Ambrose supplemented that evening by calling at 
the Richelieu and seeing the faithful servant maid 
of Annette, unknown to her mistress. The plans 
of Ambrose to protect Annette were materially as- 
sisted, and the accuracy of his deductions thoroughly 
confirmed on the following morning ; for when he 
arrived at his office, he found the wily Mr. Wrenn 
awaiting him. Giving due heed to the warning 
cough of Adolph, Ambrose greeted Bob with a 


Relative to Visitors 


147 


pleasant smile, to which Bob responded by extend- 
ing his hand, and then as they seated themselves, 
Ambrose looked at the detective inquiringly. Bob 
twisted uneasily in his chair and seemed at loss how 
to begin, but Ambrose waited for him in patient 
silence. 

“ I say, judge,” said Bob, finally, “ I want to ease 
my mind a little. I was in town yesterday and the 
day before on business for the sheriff, and I suppose 
you guessed pretty near what that business was when 
we called here.” 

“ I did form an opinion,” said Ambrose. 

“ Well, I went home last night, and this morning 
when I saw him he offered to pay me, but I took 
only my actual expenses. If I had known the game 
he was up to, I wouldn’t have come here at all.” 

“ Does the sheriff know where Annette lives ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Bob. “ I told him.” 

“ Then,” said Ambrose, “ what am I to understand 
as a meaning of your visit this morning ? ” 

“ Well, judge, I am only a plain every-day con- 
stable, but I ain’t so low that I will help to perse- 
cute a helpless woman. You are pretty good at 
guessin’, and you can guess a whole lot when I tell 
you that Burt Strieker and Adele are going to call 
on Annette.” 

“ How do you spell the names ?” said Ambrose. 

“ Well, you know her name is Adele Moran, and 
here is Mr. Strieker’s business card.” 

“ Well,” said Ambrose, “ when do you think they 
will call ? ” 

“ Not before to-morrow at least, and perhaps not 
then. I don’t know for sure. You understand, I 
suppose ? ” 


The Client 


148 

“ I think I do,” said Ambrose. “ I thank you for 
calling ; perhaps later on I may say more.” 

“ I say, judge,” said Bob, as he arose to go, “ I 
have often thought that if everybody had a proper 
amount of self-respect there wouldn’t be any need 
of law or lawyers. I am glad that I am well out of 
this, for I feel it in my bones that the sheriff is goin’ 
to the dogs at a two minute gait.” 

After Bob had gone, Ambrose sat for a long time 
in thought, and Adolph with much concern noted 
on his master’s face an expression of intense sadness 
and dejection. Ambrose did not feel capable of 
facing the issue that would be involved by the ex- 
posure of his love for Annette, and he knew that 
she would regard such a contingency with equal 
dread. He did not question his own devoted love 
or hers, but he was not sure of either himself or 
Annette, if compelled to make an open choice be- 
tween duty and love. They did not dare to think 
of the future, for in contemplating what seemed to 
be the inevitable end, they each felt a sense of hor- 
ror as they realized the love that ruled them body 
and soul, and which seemed only to foreshadow a 
tragic ending. They were mentally and physically 
powerless to resist this love, and in their sacred re- 
gard for external appearances, absolute secrecy 
seemed necessary to the preservation of love as 
well as life. It can therefore be readily understood 
that Ambrose in protecting the interests of Annette, 
and in his determination to foil the evident attempt 
at blackmail, which the sheriff was contemplating, 
would spare no effort in making his own plans ef- 
fective beyond the possibility of failure. He, there- 
fore, called to Adolph and carefully instructed him 


Relative to Visitors 


149 


as to how he should proceed. He told him of what 
he had said to Annette's maid the evening previous, 
and that it was his desire that Annette should re- 
main in ignorance of his intended assistance up to 
the last moment. Her ignorance of the entire mat- 
ter was essential to a complete success for Ambrose, 
and utter defeat for the sheriff. 

Ambrose fully realized that the sheriff by reason 
of his official position would not dare to appear in 
person in a scheme to coerce Annette, that was not 
only beyond the pale of law, but which in a possible 
exposure of him would stamp him publicly as a 
contemptible scoundrel. Ambrose also felt that as 
the sheriff had no absolute proofs of his intimacy 
with Annette, and as he considered that if he were 
present in person at the interview, Annette might 
in her emotions of love or fear jeopardize her own 
interests, he resolved to entrust the entire matter to 
his reliable clerk. After Adolph had received and 
carefully noted his instructions, he left the office of 
Ambrose with the understanding that he should re- 
turn only when his work was finished. 

Annette in the meantime, unconscious of impend- 
ing evil, save that which in the intensity of her love 
seemed far distant, began to take a happy interest 
in her new mode of life. Living thus alone with 
her faithful maid, whose honest heart and unques- 
tioned loyalty caused her mistress to appreciate her 
as a companion, as well as a servant, she felt a sense 
of content and peace which she had never known 
before. She could remember the sheriff and her 
ten years of cruel bondage only with a shudder of 
horror, and if an occasional sense of fear crept into 
her heart, as she thought of her new-born and hope- 


150 


The Client 


less love for Ambrose ; — if this cloud for a moment 
obscured the sunshine of her happiness, — she felt 
that she had at least known the meaning of love in 
her own heart, and felt the happiness of being loved 
in return. She knew that all things earthly must 
come to an end. She felt that the end of her love 
for Ambrose meant the end of her life, and she re- 
membered how one day when she had fearfully 
spoken of the possibility of being parted from him, 
and they had both felt the dread fear that such a 
thing implied, he had quoted these words from 
Byron : — 


“ And what is death ? 

*Tis a sunset, — 

And mortals may be happy to resemble 
The Gods but in decay.” 


The following day passed without incident and on 
the next afternoon Annette went down-town and 
called on Ambrose at his office. While she was 
there, Ambrose answered a telephone call which 
proved to be from Adolph. He told Ambrose that 
Annette had gone out about an hour before and de- 
sired to know if she was there. Ambrose replied 
in the affirmative and expressed his pleasure to 
know that his representative was so alert. About 
nine o’clock that evening Adele accompanied by 
Mr. Strieker called at the Richelieu, and after learn- 
ing that Annette was at home they went immedi- 
ately to her apartments without the formality of be- 
ing announced. They were admitted by the maid, 
and as Annette stood up to receive them an expres- 
sion of horror came over her face as she recognized 
one of her visitors as Adele. Her callers seated 


Relative to Visitors 15 1 

themselves while Annette remained standing, and as 
she supported her trembling form by holding to a 
chair, she looked around for her maid, who had dis- 
appeared in the adjoining room, but who returned 
in a moment and stood by the side of her mistress. 

“ I feel that we are not welcome visitors, Mrs. 
Caldwell,” said Adele, “ but we are here only on 
business and won't detain you long.” 

“ State your business, please,” said Annette, as 
she remained standing. 

“ Won’t you please be seated, Mrs. Caldwell,” said 
Mr. Strieker. “ Also I would suggest that as our 
business is a matter in which I am sure you would 
desire utmost privacy, your maid should leave the 
room for a few minutes.” 

“ My maid shall remain where she is,” said 
Annette firmly. “ She has my entire confidence 
and I am quite willing that she shall hear anything 
you may have to say.” 

“ Very well,” said Mr. Strieker, as he took from his 
pocket a document which he slowly unfolded. “ This 
instrument is a release prepared in due form by the 
terms of which you are required to relinquish all 
claim to the annuity which the court ordered Sheriff 
Caldwell to pay to you. I would advise you to 
sign the same at once and without protest, as of 
course you are aware that in coming here as we do 
this evening we could not accept a refusal, and I 
feel you will understand that any objections you 
could offer would be futile and mean only needless 
delay.” 

“ But I certainly shall refuse,” said Annette. 
“ What right have you to come here and make such 
an outrageous demand ? ” 


152 


The Client 


“ The sheriff, madam,” said Mr. Strieker, “ feels 
that the law has treated him unfairly in this matter, 
and that it is his moral right to evade payment 
if he can.” 

“ Then,” said Annette, “ let him test his moral 
right in court, and I will meet him there. These 
are my apartments. Your presence here is very 
objectionable to me, and I command you to 
leave at once. Do you hear me ? There is the 
door.” 

Mr. Strieker looked at Adele, as if to inquire of 
her whether or not they should obey the per- 
emptory order of Annette, but he saw no evidence 
of weakness in the look that Adele gave him, as 
she herself replied to Annette’s command. 

“ Well, Mrs. A. — Caldwell, or whatever you call 
yourself, you are a fine lady bird to defy us ; to or- 
der us to leave. How dare you pose as a picture 
of injured innocence, when you have committed 
exactly the same offense against your lawyer’s wife 
that I committed against you. Do you demand 
proofs of what I say? You know that Judge 
Pierce alone until now, has known your present 
place of abode. You know that he visits you here. 
You know that while at the Portland, you visited 
his office every day. Did he read you Byron’s 
poems ? Did your soul visit his at night, and did 
you ever go with it, and did you leave these 
souvenirs of your visits there ? These crushed 
violets scattered about the floor ? This handker- 
chief behind the divan with your initials, A. B. C. 
embroidered in the corner? Tell me, Mrs. Cald- 
well, shall I take these relics and present them to 
your lawyer’s wife or will you escape the reckoning 


Relative to Visitors 153 

that would surely follow such action by me, by 
signing that release immediately ? ” 

As Adele uttered these words the pallor of 
Annette’s face was the only indication of the effect 
that this denunciation had produced upon her. 
She remained standing, her bloodless hands still 
grasping for support the back of her chair. She 
felt her strength failing her, but she realized 
that Adele was not in the possession of con- 
victing proofs, and in spite of what she knew, 
Annette after a moment’s thought resolved to defy 
her. 

“ I will not consent to your demands,” she said, 
and then turning to Mr. Strieker, “ you, sir, I sup- 
pose, are a lawyer. I have seen you before, but I 
do not know your name. You know that this is 
an unmanly, cowardly method of doing business. 
You come here at night, secretly. You give me 
no chance to consult a lawyer or to defend myself. 
Your methods alone are proof of your dishonesty, 
and of the fact that your cause will not bear the 
light of day, and has no claim whatever upon jus- 
tice.” Then turning upon Adele, “ As for you, 
madam, your so called proofs amount to nothing, 
and even if they did, I would still refuse your de- 
mand. I will become an outcast like yourself if 
need be, but Judge Pierce shall never be told that 
you intimidated me by a threatened exposure of 
my morality.” 

“ Then,” said Adele, as she came toward An- 
nette, “ I will not only go to the wife, but I will go 
to Ambrose as well. I shall not only furnish the 
proofs of guilt, but I shall tell them both,” and here 
she whispered in the ear of Annette words that 


154 The Client 

caused a visible expression of horror to appear upon 
her face. 

“ It is false ; it is impossible/’ said Annette, as 
she grasped the arm of Adele and placed her so the 
light shone full on her face. 

“It is quite true, madam,” said Adele; “you 
ought to love me more than you do.” 

Annette hesitated for a moment and then said, 
“ Come here to-morrow at noon ; come alone, and 
you shall see me alone. Prove what you say is 
true, and I will buy your silence at the price you 
demand. I will sacrifice the annuity for his sake, 
but not for my own.” 

“ We cannot wait until to-morrow,” said Mr. 
Strieker, “ but if you desire, you might have all the 
time needful for a private interview now in the ad- 
joining room.” 

At this moment the communicating door leading 
into the next room was pushed open wide, as 
Adolph and a clean shaven muscular looking gen- 
tleman entered the parlor. 

“ Oh, Adolph ! ” said Annette, as she grasped his 
arm. “ How, why, are you here? What does all 
this mean ? It is so terrible. Are you here to help 
me? Tell me?” 

“ I certainly would not be here for any other pur- 
pose,” said Adolph. “ Sit down, Mr. Strieker,” 
said he, as Mr. Strieker arose and looked longingly 
at the door leading to the hall. “ It is not polite to 
leave so soon after we arrive. I am here, Mrs. 
Caldwell, by the order of Judge Pierce. In the 
room adjoining, I have heard all that was said, and 
I cannot consent for you to sign that release under 
any conditions,” 


Relative to Visitors 


155 


“ But, Adolph/' said Annette, “ come here a 
moment/' and taking him aside she told him of 
what Adele had whispered to her. 

“ That will not make the slightest difference,” 
said Adolph. “ Judge Pierce, and I know him so 
well, would never let her come between him and 
justice, and let me assure you, Mrs. Caldwell, that 
he has surmised with perfect accuracy just what 
these people would do and has provided for your 
complete protection.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Strieker, as he felt his serious 
predicament and determined upon an attempt at 
evasion, “ I suppose we shall not be able to settle 
this matter amicably, and will have to contest it in 
court.” 

“ You know very well that you have no case 
whatever to take to court,” said Adolph, “ and 
knowing your intelligence, I am surprised to find 
you engaged in a business of this kind. You are 
lawyer enough to know that by the laws of this 
state, blackmail and the obtaining of money under 
false pretense are synonymous crimes, punishable 
by fine and imprisonment at hard labor for a period 
not exceeding five years. Now I have here duly 
prepared a confession which you and Mrs. Moran 
must both sign. This confession, in substance re- 
cites, that you acknowledge this to be an attempt at 
blackmail ; that the charges you have made against 
Judge Pierce and this lady are false, and that you 
recognize yourselves as amenable to the law at any 
time in the future should you fail to strictly observe 
the terms of this confession. If you are willing to 
sign this right now, you will be permitted to go 
free. If not, I have a warrant here for the arrest of 


The Client 


J 5 6 

you both, and this gentleman, Mr. Mershon, a de- 
tective of this city, will take you in his charge.” 

“ This warrant,” said Mr. Mershon, “ was issued to 
me conditionally, at the request of Judge Pierce 
with the understanding that I should serve same 
only after I had fully satisfied myself that the cir- 
cumstances would justify me in arresting Adele 
Moran and Burton Strieker for attempted black- 
mail. Upon the strength of the evidence I have, I 
shall make the arrest unless I am instructed by this 
gentleman not to do so.” 

“ You can have just five minutes in which to sign 
this confession,” said Adolph, “ that will be just two 
and one-half minutes for each of you,” and he 
pulled out his watch. 

Adele silently arose and stepping to the table 
promptly signed the confession. Mr. Strieker re- 
mained seated, staring in a dazed sort of way at 
Adele. 

“ Sign it, fool,” said she, upon which Strieker 
sprang from his chair as though shot from a cata- 
pult and did as he was told. 

“ Now, Mr. Mershon, you and I will witness these 
signatures, if you please,” said Adolph, after which 
formality he folded the confession and placed it in 
his pocket. 

“ Well,” said Adele, “ I suppose we may go ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Adolph, “ only return to us the hand- 
kerchief belonging to Mrs. Caldwell. Thank you. 
I am sorry that in returning it you had so much 
trouble in locating the owner.” 

“ Now, I can breathe again, Adolph,” said An- 
nette, after her visitors were gone ; “ but are you 
sure they won’t work for revenge? ” 


Relative to Visitors 


157 

“ What if they do ? ” said he. “ Their fangs are 
drawn.” 

“ But how did you get here at such a timely 
moment ? ” 

“ Why,” said Adolph, “ we have been here for the 
past two days. We were housekeeping in the 
vacant suite across the hall, and you supplied us 
with coffee and rolls which your maid kindly 
brought to us.” 


CHAPTER X 


THE SHERIFF IS ENLIGHTENED AND AMBROSE 
IS ENTERTAINED 

The violets of April and the blossoms of May 
were in turn followed by the roses of June. Noth- 
ing further had occurred to mar the happiness of 
Ambrose and Annette, or to reveal to the world 
their secret love. At the earnest request of An- 
nette and after a thorough discussion of the matter 
with her, Adolph had consented to tell his master 
all about the results of his successful efforts in 
thwarting the schemes of their enemies with the 
exception of one or two important details. He had 
considered that no useful purpose could be served 
by imparting to him the startling information which 
Adele had given them on that evening, and the 
secret of her identity would perhaps have forever 
remained a secret, but for a fateful turn of that 
“ Destiny which shapes our ends, rough hew them 
how we will.” The sheriff, awed into silence by 
the unprejudiced account which Mr. Strieker had 
given him of his unsuccessful call upon Annette 
and fearful of an exposure which would seriously 
damage his business and political interests, had 
wisely determined that it was time for him to be 
quietly discreet and also while exercising this in- 
fluence upon Adele, he secretly decided that a con- 
tinued intimacy with her was both dangerous and 
expensive, and that he had better get rid of her as 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 159 

soon as possible. He felt that Adele and Mr. 
Strieker had been very fortunate in getting off so 
easily, and that their escape from arrest and im- 
prisonment had permitted him to crawl out through 
a very small hole. In thinking over the practica- 
bility of various schemes to get rid of Adele, he 
realized that the task was like going to the peniten- 
tiary, easy to get in, but hard to get out. He had 
committed himself in so many ways by appearing 
with her in public and by the love letters he had 
written her, that he was securely entangled in the 
meshes of Cupid's net, and felt that escape by any 
road meant either a loss of considerable cash or of 
social standing, and perhaps both. In the divorce 
of his wife he had suffered a severe financial loss, and 
his well known habits of dissipation in connection 
with this had in spite of his political prominence 
and moderate wealth, rendered his social standing 
in the community so precarious that he dreaded 
most intensely the jar that would result from a rup- 
ture with Adele. The sheriff therefore pondered 
deeply, but hopelessly, and it is no reflection upon 
his intelligence to say this. Many bright men be- 
fore his time had faced similar troubles with a 
similar degree of embarrassment. 

There was one thought, however, that was up- 
permost in the sheriff’s mind. He felt that he 
ought to be encouraged in his desire to reform. He 
didn’t expect Adele to offer him encouragement, 
but he thought that other people should. He had 
no desire to take an interested public into his con- 
fidence, and in fact he felt that there was no neces- 
sity for them to know the real state of his feelings. 
His silent and unexpressed assumption of the virtue 


i6o 


The Client 


of penitence for sin was in his opinion enough for 
the morbid curiosity of those who would under any 
circumstances secretly laugh at him, and the sin- 
cerity of whose advice would be as questionable as 
its wisdom. In his shrewdness as a business man 
and a successful political schemer he wondered why 
he should find the solution of his present difficulty 
a source of so much anxiety and worriment. He 
worried so much over the matter that he began to 
show signs of impaired health, and looked pale and 
careworn. His friends, mostly his political adher- 
ents, who gratefully accepted the crumbs that fell 
from his official table, pitied him, but they were the 
satellites whose sympathetic and weak effulgence 
was but the reflected light of an ill boding star. 
The sheriff groaned in voice and spirit and went to 
church three times a day on Sunday, for, “ When 
the devil was sick the devil a monk would be, but 
when the devil was well the devil a monk was he.” 
His pitiable appearance and assumption of piety at 
length produced in some degree the effect he de- 
sired, for it became noised around that the sheriff 
was now a sober man and was greatly grieved over 
his wife’s suit for divorce, but while this opinion 
gained ground with the public at large it did not 
find lodgement in the minds of a few persons who 
were familiar with the real facts. The sheriff at his 
wit’s end finally decided to confide his troubles to 
Bob Wrenn, and to ask his advice. He felt that 
Bob was both honest and wise and that if on a 
previous occasion he had refused to help him do 
wrong, he certainly would not refuse to help him 
back to respectability. Bob had by judicious 
“pumping” and “jollying” obtained from Mr. 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 161 

Strieker the main facts and result of the abortive 
attempt to coerce Annette, and so when the sheriff 
confided to him his intention to cast off Adele and 
to lead a better life, Bob’s stoical face was a picture 
of interested sympathy, while his heart and mind 
were a court of justice in which the sheriff would 
get what he deserved, and from whose decisions 
there would be no appeal, at least so far as Bob’s 
opinions and advice were concerned. 

“ Now, Bob,” said the sheriff, “ Adele is pushing 
me hard for money, and I am tired of the whole 
business and want to swear off on both women and 
wine. You are a very clever fellow, and now that 
you know all, I want you to tell me what I ought 
to do.” 

“ Well, sher’ff,” said Bob, “ when a man has the 
women and wine habits as bad as you’ve got ’em, it 
seems to me that when you ask a plain every-day 
town constable to fix up a dose that will bring you 
around all smilin’ you are askin’ a question which 
is a little beyond his knowledge of drugs or surgery. 
If your case wasn’t in such advanced stages ; if it 
wasn’t so blamed chronic, I might give you a little 
cheap advice that would help matters considerable, 
but you’ve about got to the stage of dissolute, and 
I’m afraid you’ll have to take a little public disin- 
fectin.’ When you swear off on the wine habit 
after it has a grip on you, you will get a severe case 
of nervous shakes and nothing more, but when you 
swear off on a woman who has got a grip on you, 
you will not only get the nervous shakes but a 
whole lot of gilt-edged hell along with it.” 

“ But Bob, I was not to blame for Adele’s going 
wrong.” 


162 


The Client 


“ Not exactly, sher’ff, but she isn’t any better for 
knowing you, and if you didn’t cause her downfall 
how about your wife? You couldn’t even defend 
your divorce suit and why ? Because you had no 
defense to make. You knocked her down and drove 
her from you after you had solemnly promised to 
protect her. For ten years she was a faithful, hon- 
est wife to you when you were anything else but an 
honest husband. If she isn’t honest, now, how 
much are you to blame for her failure to be honest ? 
And now, as high sheriff of Prescott County, you 
are trying to make a cheap squeal on a girl whose 
only crime against you is that she has given you all 
that a woman can give ; a woman who is a sinner 
because men like you made her so, and who, when 
all the world turns her down and she claims from 
the men who degraded her the right to live, like a 
mean, miserable coward, you would leave her to 
starve. Let me tell you, sher’ff, that you ought to 
be in a better business. You are pretty near the 
end of your rope, and your case is one that Bob 
Wrenn can’t prescribe for. You need a good allo- 
path specialist or a horse doctor, and I don’t know 
which would be best. The man who sat in his 
office and beat you with his eyes blindfolded, in 
your little game at the Richelieu might show you a 
way out of your trouble, but I don’t think you want 
to ask advice from the judge, and I don’t think he 
would take your case anyhow. Men are supposed 
to protect women, and you as sheriff of Prescott 
County are supposed to set some example of how 
it’s done. We look to you to defend virtue and 
punish crime, and how have you done it? You 
ought to be the best citizen of Raleigh ; and every- 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 163 

body knows you are the worst. Excuse me, sher’ff, 
for my plain talk, but I can’t tell you how to get 
rid of a woman you have wronged, unless you pay 
a fair price or marry her, and, in my opinion, you 
will have to stand for a little more trouble in getting 
rid of Adele than you did in getting rid of your 
wife. It may not be a matter of so much cash, but 
it will be a matter of more brimstone for sure.” 

Bob’s words proved to be more than true, for 
Adele, knowing the sheriff to be eligible as a hus- 
band, had considered him her captive, but when like 
a coward he sent her a brief note in which he an- 
nounced that their intimacy was at an end, she 
called on him, and after repeated efforts to change 
his determination, she sacrificed her last sense of 
delicacy and pride, and, in a final tongue lashing 
which she gave him at his office, she more than 
proved the truth of the old adage that “ Hell hath 
no fury like a woman scorned,” and as she thus fell 
to the lowest depths a woman can reach, an ac- 
knowledged public outcast, she dragged the sheriff 
down with her. In thus terminating a divorce suit 
and liason, the sheriff alienated the respect of the 
public and the regard of his only remaining 
friends. 

At the Portland in the meantime, and also at 
Berylwood, our friend, Mrs. Weedahl, was a very 
busy woman. In dividing her time between her 
numerous business interests in town and also giving 
attention to the details of preparing her mansion 
and grounds at Berylwood for the fete she had in 
contemplation, the blonde Jewess showed a most 
wonderful executive ability, and an artistic taste 
which on the surface seemed wholly inconsistent 


The Client 


164 

with her coarse and vulgar nature. But Mrs. 
Weedahl, as the reader has doubtless inferred, 
was a woman who while she was wilfully and 
carelessly coarse and unrefined, possessed intel- 
ligence and a strong sense of appreciation for 
the romantic and ideal. Her unattractive personal- 
ity, of which she was keenly sensitive, was empha- 
sized by her intentional coarseness, and she repressed 
a disposition to be affable and courteous in manner 
in, we might say, a spirit of retaliation toward those 
who wilfully maligned her, and refused to credit her 
with any other accomplishment save the ability of a 
Jew to make money. One day when Ambrose had 
told her of how a certain man had needlessly con- 
demned her by the expression of a malicious opin- 
ion as to her business methods, she had said, “ He 
will find to his cost that I am just what he thinks I 
am/’ and she then added, “ Ambrose, justify to the 
world by your deeds the reputation it gives you. 
If a man says you are honest and confides in your 
honesty, never be false to him. If he says you are 
a sinner and tries to do you, be a sinner and do him 
if you can.” 

In the daily life of Mrs. Weedahl, the absolute 
suppression of her ideal and romantic longings in 
obedience to an erroneous but tacitly accepted theory 
by those who knew her best that she should not be 
credited with an emotional nature, had made her 
apparently a recluse, but she thus became purse 
proud ; and realizing that by reason of her mus- 
cular frame and huge proportions, in connection 
with her age and the repulsive expression of her 
face, she was not expected to be emotional or to 
show any sense of fine feeling, she secretly nursed 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 165 

the flame of resentment this occasioned until her 
thoughts and desires found vent in her expressed 
determination to surprise everybody by a fete at 
Berylwood in which no expense should be spared, 
and where the society that spurned her companion- 
ship should bow the knee to her gold if not to her, 
and so alone in her private office one evening at a 
late hour as she anticipated the completion of her 
plans and saw in imagination the perfected details 
of a summer night dream of beauty, she exultingly 
thought of how she alone, a supposed ogress, would 
design and create a veritable fairy-land, whose elves, 
gnomes, goblins and fairies would, as obedient vas- 
sals, appear and disappear at the wave of her golden 
wand. 

For many weeks she had daily consulted and em- 
ployed the best electrical experts, landscape gar- 
deners, florists, artists in scenic effects, musicians, 
drapers and upholsterers. She had employed a re- 
nowned caterer whose instructions were to make her 
banquet room and menu a gastronomic poem ; 
whose beauty should appeal to every sense of lux- 
ury, and satiate every desire. While the details of 
this work were executed by her hired lieutenants, 
she herself timed and arranged the effects desired, 
and so the grande ensemble bore the stamp of her 
master mind and the inventive genius of her vivid 
imagination. 

The next evening in talking over matters with 
her legal adviser, she said : 

“ Ambrose, I must go out to Berylwood to-mor- 
row and shall stay there for several days. I should 
like you to go with me if you can arrange to do so. 
I want to show you what I have done and will do, 


The Client 


1 66 

and see if you can make any suggestions in addi- 
tion to those you have already offered. Could you 
stay there over night? I hope you can, for the 
electricians will exhibit their work.” 

“ I should be very glad to go,” said Ambrose. 
“ I can remain over night and return to town early 
in the morning. By the way, I see that the society 
columns of the newspapers are full of your intended 
display. You are getting a great social advertising.” 

“ Oh, yes, yes,” said the Jewess, “ reporters have 
almost worried the life out of me lately.” 

“ How about the invited guests ? The accept- 
ances ? ” 

“ Acceptances ? Look on that table in the 
corner. You see they are two feet deep. Society 
will be there, Ambrose, in full bib and tucker. 
Don’t worry about that. I am even deluged with re- 
quests for invitations from people I never heard of. 
Why, at the request of your friend, Judge Morris, I 
sent an invitation to a Russian duke, who happens 
to be in town, — his name ? Oh, Lordy, don’t ask 
me. Here is his card — Leo Cowscoff Catapussi- 
Ratamouski — a sort of progressive animal name. 
The judge says he is an awfully nice fellow, but 
can’t talk English very well. I’ll get my protege, 
Kourtomsky, to talk to him. He is a Russian 
Jew, that I financed in rags and old iron, but 
I’ll have to watch Tom to see that he don’t steal 
the duke’s watch.” 

“ I suppose of course that the guests of the 
Portland will be invited,” said Ambrose. 

“ Oh, yes, yes, they’ll all go. Grill is going to 
take the linen room girl, and I believe Mrs. Brown- 
Jones thought I was so kind in inviting them.” 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 167 

“ Then you have not been exclusive in making 
up your invitation list ? ” 

“ Not at all ; I want my friends to come because 
I shall truly enjoy having them there. I want my 
enemies to come that I may witness their humilia- 
tion and fawning hyprocrisy. I want 4 soaked 
peas, rags and old iron/ and many of my other 
financed proteges to come that they may witness 
my exhibition of wealth, and thus be awed unto a 
fear that they would be crushed out of existence if 
they proved false to me. I have invited the sheriff 
and other politicians of Raleigh, and also many 
prominent political officials from this city, but I felt 
that in doing this it would be absolutely necessary 
to offset the bad moral effect that they would pro- 
duce, so I invited an equal number of prominent 
clergymen. I am afraid my invitations to the cloth 
will prove a little expensive, as a number of them 
have already reciprocated my courtesy by sending 
me invitations to endow homes, put new roofs on 
churches, donations of cash, etc. The politicians 
will be expensive because of the wine they will 
drink, and the clergymen will take cash for useful 
purposes, and so I pay my tax on vice and virtue at 
one and the same time. Thus you see, Ambrose, 
my motives are, — and I don’t mind telling you, for 
you are the only man living that I treat with such 
confidence, — you know you always did have too 
much conscience. — My motives are pride, re- 
venge, ambition and social advertising. I don’t 
believe that even you thought I was capable of such 
a combination of concentrated emotion, but you will 
see. It’s going to be a stunner, Ambrose, I tell you, 
it’ll be a stunner.” 


1 68 


The Client 


“ I understand,” said Ambrose, “ Claude Mel- 
notte’s description of his imaginary palace at Como 
will not even apply.” 

“ Where the perfumed light steals through the 
mist of alabaster lamps, and every air is heavy with 
the sighs of orange blossoms.” 

“ But you are wrong, Mrs. Weedahl, in thinking I 
did not credit you with an emotional nature. I 
have for years noted that your emotions were sup- 
pressed, like my own. You understand me, and 
you showed your keen perception the night that I 
confessed my love for Annette. Your intuition 
penetrated my guise of quiet indifference, but in 
revealing this knowledge to me you plainly showed 
that such intuition could be born only of an 
emotional nature, whose senses were thoroughly at- 
tuned to mine. I pity you and myself as well, for 
natures like ours, which fain would quaff in supreme 
bliss the nectar of the gods, must drink to the end 
the bitter waters of Letfye.” 

The red eyes of the Jewess beamed softly on 
Ambrose, as she said : — 

“ Ambrose, I now understand why I have always 
liked you, and you are so sensible that you won’t 
mind my saying this. You are not fooled by 
flattery any more than I am. Let me tell you 
something more, Ambrose. When I told Annette 
that I did not see how she could help loving a man 
like you, I meant just what I said. There are no 
secrets between you and me and no deception. Such 
things are impossible, but at heart you are a better 
man than I am a woman, and you always will be 
so. Let’s shake hands, Ambrose, and say good- 
night.” 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 169 

On the following morning, Mrs. Weedahl with 
Ambrose took an early train for Raleigh, and as 
they rode along, Mrs. Weedahl said, “ Ambrose, I 
would like very much to have Annette come and 
visit me for a week or two, and stay with me until 
after the fete. I am going out to Berylwood next 
Monday to stay for the summer. I want to be there 
at least a week before we have the party, and I 
should enjoy having Annette there very much ; of 
course you mustn’t come near the place while she is 
there,” and she winked mischievously, “ but you 
can talk to her by ’phone. Will you invite her for 
me?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Sure? ” 

“ Why, yes, I certainly will,” said Ambrose. 

On arriving at Raleigh, they found a handsome 
equipage awaiting them. A team of beautiful 
spirited horses and a coachman in smart livery. 

“ This is my new turnout, Ambrose,” said Mrs. 
Weedahl; “ everything is new, even the coachman. 
I don’t just like the man. He is a half white negro, 
and I am always afraid of half-breeds. They are 
generally dangerous, but I took him for his style 
and because he understands horses.” 

Ambrose looked at the man who was busily en- 
gaged in controlling the restive team. 

“ We cannot expect a half-breed negro to be a 
safe or reliable man, when we consider his origin,” 
said Ambrose. 

“ No,” said Mrs. Weedahl, “ Grill says that in the 
hotel business they are always making trouble with 
razors and guns.” 

They then entered the carriage and were driven 


The Client 


170 

rapidly out to Berylwood. As they drove past the 
house where Adele lived, Mrs. Weedahl saw her 
gazing from a window and with a motion of her 
hand she diverted the attention of Ambrose 
toward her own palatial residence. 

“ Look, Ambrose,” said she, “ here is where we 
get the best view of my house from the open. 
You see it is an up grade all the way from the sta- 
tion and the illumination of the grounds, house 
and groves will be visible all the way here.” 

Berylwood, on the crest of a broad hill with a 
beautiful park surrounding it had been for many 
previous generations the home of a decayed aris- 
tocracy and the property had finally fallen into the 
possession of Mrs. Weedahl, who appreciating the 
fact that it could be made an ideal summer resi- 
dence as well as a suitable abode for her old age, 
had most elaborately and thoroughly modernized 
the place. The house, originally a lofty and impos- 
ing structure of stone, had been rebuilt and enlarged 
to nearly three times its former capacity, and in ad- 
dition to this the lawns and park had been perfected 
by expert landscape gardeners. Countless pieces of 
classic and mythological statuary, with marble 
fountains made the open landscape a picture of rare 
beauty, while natural depressions throughout the 
park had been converted into glens, grottos and 
miniature lakes, where the dense foliage of bowers 
of creeping vines and great plants with dragons and 
hydra-headed monsters of stone and iron seemed 
fitting abodes for the elves and fairies of whom the 
Ogress was queen. 

Mrs. Weedahl and Ambrose spent the morning 
in looking over the house and grounds, and Am- 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 171 

brose was thoroughly surprised at the artistic ele- 
gance of the interior of the mansion and the lavish 
expenditure of money that Mrs. Weedhal had 
made. The preparations for the fete were nearly 
completed, and with the exception of a few men en- 
gaged in making the finishing touches, the greater 
number of artisans had given place to a retinue of 
servants, who were busily engaged in putting the 
vast establishment in order for its mistress. 

“ Does it please you, Ambrose ? ” said Mrs. Weed- 
ahl, as Ambrose seated himself on a stage at the 
end of the magnificently decorated ball-room 
that he might the better feast his eyes upon the 
beautiful effects of draping and colors, and 
saw how it would appear when illuminated for the 
dance. 

“ Yes, Mrs. Weedahl,” said Ambrose quietly, “ it 
is very beautiful ; far beyond my expectations, and 
yet I should not be surprised, I should have been 
prepared to see beauty such as I never saw before, 
for wealth alone depending upon the dull intellect 
of artisans could not design or perfect an ensemble 
like this. You alone with your wealth, your intel- 
lect, your imagination and perfected senses could 
do it.” 

After luncheon, when Mrs. Weedahl found it 
necessary to spend some time with the artisans, who 
were waiting to see her, Ambrose lighted a cigar 
and started out for a stroll and prolonged inspection 
of the park. He wandered slowly through the 
winding paths and after an hour or more he found 
that he had reached the end of the estate, and seat- 
ing himself on a rustic bench, he thus remained for 
some time gazing out over the fields beyond. The 


172 


The Client 


scene that he gazed upon was one of but ordinary 
pastoral beauty, but in idle meditation he carefully 
noted its every feature. A herd of cattle were 
grazing in a distant field and he could hear the 
tinkle of their bells. Rows of trees and fences 
marked the divisions of land. He could see here 
and there the dark shades of fields of corn and the 
pale green of wheat. From the chimney of a 
tumble down farmhouse he could see a dark column 
of smoke which went straight up and high in the 
still summer air. Over all this panorama of lazy 
country life the moving cloud shadows cast their 
ever changing tints of light and shade. 

As Ambrose sat thus idly gazing, his thoughts 
seemed to revert in a most natural way to the in- 
cubus of guilt and misery to which he was ever 
a prey when alone, and the scene of peace and con- 
tent that he had been looking upon, served but to 
augment the dejection and horror he felt. He re- 
moved his hat, and passing his hand over his eyes, 
he started, as he heard the sound of footsteps and 
the rustle of a woman’s skirt behind him. He 
arose and stood face to face with the woman who 
thus appeared. 

“ Ruth ! my sister ! ” was all he could say. 

“ Yes, brother,” said the woman, sadly, “ this is 
Ruth, your only sister. We do not meet by chance, 
for I have sought you. I saw you pass the house 
where I live this morning in the carriage with Mrs. 
Weedahl, and the desire to meet you, which I have 
felt for a long time, became irresistible.” 

Ambrose stood gazing upon his sister with the 
most conflicting emotions. His only greeting was 
a continued stare, and the expression of his face was 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 173 

that of grief and consternation. He stood as if 
rooted to the ground, as he noted the repulsive 
depravity that was stamped in every lineament of 
her face. Her eyes were red from weeping. Her 
dress was worn and frayed, and her luxuriant auburn 
hair, ever the crowning glory of a woman’s beauty, 
fell in uncared for, disheveled masses about her thin 
and tear-stained face. As she thus saw Ambrose 
gazing silently upon her, a brother who apparently 
had no kind word to offer to an only sister, she 
burst into a flood of tears, and threw herself upon 
the rustic bench, sobbing with a grief that only a 
penitent woman who has fallen to the lowest depths 
can feel. Ambrose seated himself beside her and 
placing his arm about her waist, his tears fell to the 
ground with hers. As Ruth felt the gentle pressure 
of her brothers arm, her tears flowed afresh and her 
slender form shook with her sobs as she moaned, 
“ Ambrose, I am sorry. God knows I am.” 

Ambrose at once divined the truth that his way- 
ward sister had reached that depth of depravity 
where continued sin inspires horror and dies of the 
bread on which it feeds. He quickly realized that 
her grief was sincere and was born of that misery 
which comes to outcast women when all the world 
scorns and rejects them. He felt that her grief was 
a crisis in her morality, where like a crisis in disease, 
she would either live or die, and so he tenderly 
caressed her, as she thus wept beside him. Let us 
ever hope and feel that through such tears of peni- 
tence, our sins are washed away and forgiven by a 
merciful God, 

Presently the violent grief of Ruth wore itself 
out, and as she became more composed, she looked 


*74 


The Client 


up at her brother and saw only compassion and love 
in the look that he gave her. 

“ Oh, Ambrose ! don’t look at me so. I cannot 
bear it, though I hoped you would not curse me. 
See, I am a fallen woman, the lowest of the low, a 
vile thing, an object to be scorned and despised by 
all the world.” 

“ But Ruth, my poor wretched sister, why, how 
are you here? I cannot understand. Tell me all 
and let me help you.” 

“ Dear brother, I did not come to you for help, 
but to be forgiven. I have asked forgiveness of 
God and now I ask for yours, and promise you, as 
I have promised Him that come what will, I will 
die rather than return to the life of sin I have led.” 

Ruth then narrated to him the life she had led 
since, when a girl of nineteen, she had repudiated 
her brother and how she had married and ran away 
from her bushand. She told how she had watched 
her brother’s career as a lawyer, and a legislator. 
How she had read of his prominence in the news- 
papers. She had also read of his appointment as a 
judge, and she said, “ Ambrose, I have always re- 
membered the storm of criticism to which you were 
subjected for your mercy to the outcast girls who 
were arrested and brought before you, and you de- 
manded the men who were responsible for their dis- 
honor. I thought that if God, as a Merciful Judge, 
would forgive me, my brother, also a merciful 
judge, would do the same.” 

Ambrose sat apparently staring into vacancy, and 
his only answer w r as to draw his sister more closely 
to his side. 

“ You of course understand, Ambrose, that after I 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 175 

ran away from the man I married, I took an as- 
sumed name by which I have been known ever 
since." 

Again Ambrose inclined his head in silent as- 
sent. 

“ I am known as Adele Moran.” 

Ambrose leaped to his feet, as if electrified by 
the words she uttered, and Ruth, misinterpreting 
the look upon his face, gazed at him imploringly, 
as the tears again rushed from her eyes. 

“ Don’t curse me now, Ambrose. Don’t curse me 
now. I will go away and you shall never see or 
hear from me again, only be kind to me now ; re- 
member me only as your baby sister, and the 
time that you nursed me and put all my dolls in the 
crib. Forget the poor wretch who now begs for 
one word of honest love, for her brother’s forgive- 
ness, but don’t curse me, don’t curse me.” 

“ I curse you ? — poor sister, — never. I forgive 
you and love you. But the sheriff, my sister, — 
Annette — I — oh misery, misery. The hand of 
God is beginning to point the way, for His retri- 
bution is coming home.” 

“ Oh, Ambrose ! Do you really forgive me, and 
love me ? ” said Ruth, as she arose and stood trem- 
bling before her brother. 

For answer, Ambrose clasped her frail form in 
his arms in a prolonged embrace and kissed her, as 
he said, “ You shall never leave me again, Ruth. 
My home shall be yours, and I will help you and 
protect you.” 

“ No, Ambrose, dear, not now. Let me work and 
earn my living, and when I look like a decent 
woman, I will come where you are and be your sis- 


The Client 


176 

ter again. I will always let you know where I am, 
and perhaps I may come to your office, or you may 
come and see me. But you are not happy, Am- 
brose. Do you love your wife ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But you love Annette more.” 

Ambrose did not reply. 

“ But you do not know how much Annette loves 
you.” 

Ruth then related in detail the call she had made 
upon Annette in company with Strieker, and gave 
the additional facts which Adolph had failed to 
mention. 

“ She fought us bravely,” said Ruth. “ She 
knew we had no convicting proofs of her intimacy 
with you, and was willing that her own reputation 
should be sacrificed, but when I told her, and she 
felt convinced that I was your sister, she would have 
given up the annuity and every dollar she had in 
the world, rather than that I as your depraved sis- 
ter should publicly disgrace you. You see, brother, 
if a woman ever did love a man, Annette loves 
you.” 

As Ruth thus narrated to her brother the sacri- 
fice for love that Annette would have made, he 
leaned forward in despair, as he realized that under 
certain conditions a woman’s pure love for man 
could be to him a source of the greatest joy, or the 
greatest grief. 

Ambrose and his sister then talked and planned 
as to what should be done for her, and it was 
finally decided that she should remain with the old 
woman with whom she was boarding until she 
could prepare a simple wardrobe with money which 


The Sheriff is Enlightened 177 

Ambrose offered to give her, and to present a gen- 
eral appearance of respectability; after which it 
was agreed that her brother would secure some re- 
spectable work for her to do in town, and to other- 
wise aid and protect her. Ambrose then walked 
over with her to the house where she was boarding, 
paid up her indebtedness there, and left her with the 
understanding that she should go to the city with 
him on the following day to purchase some needed 
dress goods. Ambrose then returned to Berylwood 
and found Mrs. Weedahl awaiting him with some 
anxiety. 

“ My goodness, Ambrose, where have you been 
all this time ? ” said she, as she met him on the lawn. 
“ Our dinner is waiting/' 

“ I am very sorry I kept you waiting/’ said Am- 
brose, “ but you must forgive me. I have spent the 
afternoon with my sister.” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE UNBIDDEN GUESTS 

The evening of the fete had arrived, and Beryl- 
wood was aglow with life and beauty. The early 
summer charms of a delightful temperature and a 
cloudless sky seemed but natural accessories to the 
elaborate and ideal entertainment which the Jewess 
had planned. At sunset an imposing line of car- 
riages had assembled at the station, and soon after 
the special trains bearing crowds of guests began to 
arrive. They were quickly conveyed to Berylwood, 
and then the carriages returning brought others, 
who arrived on later trains. The mansion, bril- 
liantly illuminated in every window and tower could 
distinctly be seen from the station and as the guests 
ascended the hill, the spacious lawns, fountains and 
statuary with a background of stately green trees 
were subjected to a unique and beautiful display of 
calcium effects, whose ever changing colors thus 
thrown upon a vast paradise of nature beautified by 
art produced a sense of mystified enchantment in 
those who looked upon the lovely scene. In the 
background, among the broad acres of woodland 
that constituted the park were myriads of miniature 
incandescent electric lamps in colors of blue and 
red. Every tree thus seemed to be bearing its fruit 
of stars, and which were apparently as countless 
and even more beautiful than those in the sky 


The Unbidden Guests 


179 


above. Every glen and grotto was illuminated with 
the soft glow of these twinkling beauties, and when 
their pale effulgence thus thickly dotting the semi- 
gloom of a broad area of shade was made the back- 
ground of the brilliant calcium colors in the open 
park beyond, it was indeed a veritable fairy-land that 
the Ogress had designed and created. The inspir- 
ing music of a band stationed in a pavilion, alter- 
nated with the distant melody of a trombone 
quartette, and the response of buglers whose far 
away notes died on the still night air seemed like 
“ horns of Elfin faintly blowing.” Amid these 
scenes of enchanted woodland beauty the guests 
of the Ogress strolled in delighted surprise. At 
every turn some visions of elfin wonderland met 
their gaze. A hundred or more little children, 
masked and clothed in bespangled costumes as veri- 
table goblins and fairies ran and played among the 
trees and desported in the glens where the waters 
of a brook converted into miniature cascades fell to 
the muffled sound of tinkling music. A realistic 
and yet ideal rendition of “ Le Jet D’Eau.” 

Further on in a ravine so densely shaded by 
spruce and fir-trees, that it was apparently a cave, 
were seen huge Japanese lanterns shaped into hid- 
eous and grotesque looking monsters, squatting on 
the ground, and whose red eyes of fire and grinning 
jowls seemed to be contemplating their recent prey 
in the skeletons illumined with phosphorus which 
lay scattered about the entrance to the cavern. 

Throughout the interior of the mansion the fra- 
grance of roses was everywhere perceptible, and 
huge banks of waving palms, which served as set- 
tings for masses of flowering plants in recess and 


i8o 


The Client 


alcove, were visible in lavish profusion. In the 
furnishing and draperies the colors of red and green 
predominated, and the electric light effects were in 
harmony with these colors. In the rear the great 
open windows of the ball and banquet rooms looked 
out upon the thousands of miniature incandescent 
lamps whose twinkling beauty so near at hand in- 
spired in the imagination a feeling that the stars, 
envious of the transcendent beauty of an art that 
had eclipsed their brilliancy, had assembled in the 
park of Berylwood in a modest protest against this 
successful imitation of their celestial glory. Strains 
of orchestral music, the source of which could not 
be located, greeted the ear ; so soft and low that 
they might have been the sighs of roses, or seolean 
harps that the soft breezes made of the trembling 
palms. The senses appealed to and thus satisfied 
by this combined perfection of art and nature were 
softened and subdued. The guests moved through 
the spacious rooms and corridors in quiet ecstasy. 
They felt that this magnificence was beyond them ; 
that they were unworthy of the honors thus ac- 
corded them, and this was exactly the impression 
that the Jewess desired to create by the work she 
had done. The reception parlor in which Mrs. 
Weedahl was to extend a greeting to her guests was 
a large octagon shaped room, the ceiling of which 
was an arched dome upon which an artist had 
painted in subdued colors an ideal reproduction of 
the allegorical subject, “ Love’s Awakening.” The 
general effect was ecru, but on the panels which 
marked the eight divisions of the room, and ex- 
tending from floor to ceiling were banks of huge 
white lilies thinly veiled by asparagus vine and 


The Unbidden Guests 1 8 1 

delicate ferns. The stamens of the lilies were 
miniature electric lamps of gilded glass, and were 
sufficiently numerous to light the room with their 
mellow golden glow. This combination of ecru, 
gold, pale green and white with the incandescent 
stars beyond showing through the gloom at each 
open window constituted a color scheme in which 
decorative art had reached the limit of human skill. 

Mrs. Weedahl presently appeared accompanied 
by Annette. Both ladies were gowned in elaborate 
creations of the dressmakers art. But the lovely 
white shoulders, the pale face, the red lips and 
sparkling eyes of Annette had never before ap- 
peared so beautiful, as when thus shown in contrast 
with those of her hostess. Annette so supremely 
happy that she was radiantly beautiful, had charmed 
Mrs. Weedahl to such an extent that when she an- 
nounced herself as ready to accompany her to the 
reception parlor, her hostess had said, as she kissed 
her, “ Annette, you are the loveliest, most charming 
woman that lives. How I pity your unfortunate 
love.” Upon which Annette had realized that on 
that evening she must look upon the man she loved 
more than life, as the exclusive property of another 
woman. She had been visiting Mrs. Weedahl for 
the week previous to the fete and had thoroughly 
enjoyed the wit and sociability of the Jewess. 
Ambrose had interpreted the command of Mrs. 
Weedahl to stay away as an invitation to come, and 
so one day he had gone out and spent the afternoon 
with his sister and had surprised Mrs. Weedahl and 
Annette by appearing at Beryl wood, as they were at 
dinner and remaining there until the following day. 

“ Now, Annette,” said Mrs. Weedahl, as she sur- 


The Client 


182 

veyed her guest from head to foot, “ you certainly 
are the belle of Berylwood to-night. Perhaps you 
will make a conquest of the duke ; they say he is 
unmarried. No, you don’t want the duke, eh? 
Don’t like his name ? Of course, like a spoiled 
child, you want something you can’t have. Well, 
come on, let’s see the grounds and park before we 
go to the reception-room,” and grasping the arm of 
Annette, they hastened out to inspect the wonder- 
land that glowed and sparkled beyond. As they 
returned to the house and were about to ascend the 
steps, they found themselves face to face with Am- 
brose and his wife, who had just arrived. Ambrose 
and Annette were both unprepared for this meeting, 
but their embarrassment was perceptible only to the 
Jewess, and the crimson tide that flowed to the face 
of Annette was made invisible by the soft glow of 
the red calcium light that shone upon her. Quiet 
greetings were exchanged between the quartette, 
but no attempt at sociability was made by either. 
Ambrose and Mrs. Weedahl from motives of discre- 
tion ; Mrs. Pierce from a fear that she would be 
subjected to unfavorable comment by the ladies of 
the Portland ; and Annette for a reason that is 
needless to mention. But shortly after this they as- 
sembled in the reception-room where the guests 
who desired to pay their respects to the Jewess were 
announced in order. Ambrose always a careful and 
intelligent student of human nature, and keenly ap- 
preciating the opportunity thus offered him to study 
under favorable conditions a typical American as- 
semblage to nearly all of whom the dollar was God, 
followed with eager eyes the movements of those 
who attracted his attention. 


The Unbidden Guests 183 

“ Who is that thin faced man with the long hair, 
Mrs. Weedahl?” said Ambrose, as he looked over 
to where the object of his curiosity was standing. 

“ Oh, that is Butrand, the iconoclast. Some people 
call him an anarchist, but he isn’t bad. He is like 
lots of other so called anarchists, who only want a 
government that is in accord with our constitution, 
and who in fact are really material out of which 
good Presbyterians could be made.” 

“ And the thin wise looking man with a bald 
head and spectacles ? ” 

“ Why, that is Eppelsheimer, the author. He is 
a great novelist. It is said that he wrote two 
novels ; one called, ‘ The Confessions of a Bach- 
elor/ and the other, ‘ The Confessions of a Married 
Man.’ He did it in two words ; one of six letters 
and the other of four.” 

“ I suppose of course the word of six letters was 
the married man’s confession,” said Ambrose laugh- 
ingly. 

Mrs. Weedahl looked upon him with a mocking 
smile of compassion, as she replied, 

“ You know more about law than literature, my 
boy. I always said you were slow, but guess again 
and you will be sure to guess right.” 

“ And who, pray, is the black-eyed man with a 
dark Vandyke beard? ’’ said Ambrose. 

“ Why, that is one of my clergymen. He is the 
celebrated Jewish Rabbi Kroscow. He is supposed 
to be a great man, but he isn’t. I once heard him 
in a street car berate the conductor for fully five 
minutes, because the conductor failed to tell him to 
get off at a certain street, and the rabbi reading a 
newspaper had been carried beyond his destination.” 


184 The Client 

Mr. Ivan Kourtomsky was the next announce- 
ment. 

“ Tom has certainly done himself proud,” said 
Mrs. Weedahl, as her protege entered in a dress 
suit that fitted to perfection his well formed figure. 
The Russian dealer in rags and old iron certainly 
looked a patrician as with his pale mobile features, 
waxed moustache and carefully dressed iron gray 
hair, he gracefully greeted his hostess, and made 
room for others that followed him. 

“ Mrs. Brown-Jones and Mrs. M’Garrite,” said the 
usher. 

“ Oil and molasses,” said the Jewess sotto voce, 
as the ladies approached her. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Weedahl ! ” said the short fat lady, 
whose claws were concealed by a velvety unctuous 
voice. “ How beautiful it all is, and, a — Mrs. A — 
Caldwell is assisting you to receive ? How lovely 
indeed.” 

“ That is just what I told Annette one hour ago. 
I said she was the belle of Berylwood. I am glad 
you think so too,” said the Jewess. 

“ And pray tell me,” said the lady still in purring 
tones, though her eyes sharply negatived the pre- 
vious words of her hostess, “ who was the artist who 
designed all this ? ” 

“ Why, I am indebted to Mr. Grill for many val- 
uable suggestions,” said the Ogress with a tone of 
voice in which a trace of irony was perceptible. 

“ Is it possible, and the color schemes are so 
lovely.” 

“ Yes, society is well represented from the 
patrician with blue blood to the Bohemian with 
red. We are trying to please them all.” 


The Unbidden Guests 185 

“ Mr. Grill and Miss McKinney/’ said the usher. 

“ Oh, Lordy, look at Grill’s collar, but I suppose 
he has a long neck and has to wear it high.” 

Nevertheless the Jewess greeted her manager 
and his lady with honest and undisguised pleasure, 
so that the obsequious but diplomatic bland and 
smiling Mr. Grill was not only glad to be there, but 
he also secretly felt that his business judgment had 
been nearly correct when, years ago, he had said 
that Mrs. Weedahl was a wonderful woman. 

“ Mayor Smith and Sheriff Caldwell of Raleigh,” 
announced the usher. 

Annette instinctively withdrew from the side of 
her hostess as these names were announced. Trem- 
bling with fear and loathing, she could remember 
only the drunken brute with bloodshot eyes who 
had cursed and struck her, so she turned away that 
she might not look upon the wretch, the mere 
thought of whom now filled her mind with horror. 
Her action quickly noted by Mrs. Weedahl was re- 
flected in the cool greeting which the Jewess gave 
to the sheriff, who visibly winced as he noticed the 
action of his former wife and the chilling and silent 
acknowledgment of his greeting by his hostess. 

Ambrose and his wife, at the request of Mrs. 
Weedahl, had remained near her in the reception 
room, but Mrs. Pierce whose general temperament 
and ideas of propriety were ever regulated by a 
strict code of morals, and so were never in accord 
with the adaptable mind and manners of her hostess, 
now felt an ill concealed embarrassment in her un- 
congenial society, and excusing herself, joined a 
group of ladies whom she knew and remained with 
them. At this moment a flutter of excitement and 


The Client 


1 86 

something of a commotion was noticeable without, 
and the whispered information that the duke had 
arrived was imparted to Mrs. Weedahl. 

“ What shall I say to him, Ambrose ? ” said the 
anxious hostess. “ I am not accustomed to meet- 
ing dukes, and perhaps I won’t understand a word 
he says.” 

“ Well, of course,” said Ambrose, “ as a Russian 
he is rather different from your Mr. Kourtomsky, but 
let him do the talking. They say he speaks Eng- 
lish quite well, and of course like other foreigners 
he will be only too glad to show you how finely he 
can talk. He will of course talk about America, 
matters of public interest, and apologize for his bad 
English.” 

“ His Highness, the Duke, Leo Cowscoff Cata- 
pussi-Ratamouski, and Judge Ferdinand Morris,” 
announced the usher. 

“ And the animals entered one by one,” said 
Annette, laughingly. 

Mrs. Weedahl smiled graciously upon the duke 
and the judge who accompanied him. 

“ I have great pleasure in ze honor of being your 
guest,” said the duke, bowing low. “ I am charmed 
and delight. It is beautiful beyond compare. My 
English is not ze style correct, but I feel ze beauty 
and ze glory.” 

“ The honor is mine, duke. Your English is 
very good, and I hope you will like America as well 
as you do Berylwood. Allow me to present you to 
a few of my friends.” 

The presentations were duly made and acknowl- 
edged and the duke smiling affably replied, 

“ I like America very much, madam, but ze 


The Unbidden Guests 187 

language is hard to speak. It was not what you say 
consistent, I work some at it each day. See now, 
ze word ague is a dissyllable, and ze word plague a 
monosyllable. It gives me ze plague and ze ague to 
speak ze words.” 

His auditors laughed merrily at this caustic criti- 
cism of our derivative tongue, and listened to his 
further remarks with eager attention. 

“ Ze newspapers here are not like vat ze are in 
Russia. I read to-day about ze riot. Ze big type 
make me look. I read ze reperter drew his refelver 
tzu keep back ze crowd. I know not what it 
mean.” 

“ You mean,” said his hostess, “ that the reporter 
drew his revolver to keep back the crowd, and the 
big type, well we call that yellow journalism.” 

“ Ze paper vas yellow ? ” said the duke inquir- 
ingly. 

“ No,” said Mrs. Weedahl, “ I mean sensational.” 

“ Oh, I see,” said the duke, “ ze sensatione,” and a 
mild expression of disdain appeared upon his face. 
“ In Russia ze press is censored too much, and in 
America it is not censored enough.” 

The duke then adjusted his eye-glasses, and after 
quietly looking over the beautifully decorated 
room, and its occupants, his eye rested on Mr. 
Kourtomsky, whose appearance was at once sug- 
gestive of national kinship, and who at the time was 
the centre of a group of admirers, who had mis- 
taken him for another Russian nobleman, evi- 
dently incognito. 

“ I haf not ze honor of knowing ze gentleman 
wif ze gray hair,” said the duke. 

“ I shall present him to you very soon, duke,” 


The Client 


1 88 

said Mrs. Weedahl. “ He is a Russian by birth, 
but is now a citizen of this country. He is inter- 
ested quite heavily in iron and textile products. 
He is, as we say in America, ‘ up-to-date.’ When 
he goes to a summer resort hotel, and there hap- 
pens to be a game of progressive euchre, he 
always takes the first prize, if they allow him to 
play.” 

The duke bowed his acknowledgment of this 
information, and again remarked inquiringly, 

“ And ze stout lady wif ze fan ? She looked 
distingue.” 

“ Oh,” said his hostess, as she unconsciously ex- 
pressed her natural ridicule of her guest’s weakness. 
“ That is Mrs. Brown Hyphen Jones. She is in- 
deed quite prepossessing ; she has quite an ancestry. 
Her grandfather was a Carter, and she had an uncle 
whose name was John Smith. She is really made 
from superior clay, but she was spoiled in the bak- 
ing.” 

“ Oh,” said the duke sympathetically, “ she was 
spoiled by ze baker. Will you present me to 
her ? ” 

“ With pleasure,” said the Jewess, and accom- 
panying him to where Mrs. Brown-Jones was stand- 
ing, the presentation was duly made, and then Mrs. 
Weedahl devoted herself to the reception and en- 
tertainment of others. 

At that moment the seductive music of a Strauss 
Waltz was heard in the ballroom, and the duke, 
bowing low, said, 

“ Shall I haf ze honor of a dance wif you, Mrs. 
Brown Hyphen?” 

“Jones, sir, if you please,” said the lady with a 


The Unbidden Guests 189 

stinging sarcasm that was thinly veiled by her ef- 
fort at self-control. 

The embarrassed duke appreciated in some sense 
the blunder he had made, and hastened to correct 
himself. 

“ I beg ta touson pardons, Mrs. Jones Hyphen ; 
a touson pardons, I hope ” 

But the hyphenated relic of questionable lineage 
with a look toward her hostess which truly indi- 
cated for once the love she felt for her, abruptly left 
the embarrassed duke, and in sadly ruffled dignity 
swept grandly from the room. Mrs. Weedahl 
noticing her abrupt departure, and the duke’s pain- 
ful perplexity, hastened to him, her face expressive 
of anxiety, but the duke’s first words to her were 
sufficiently explanatory. 

“ I tink, madam, I did not get ze name correct ; 
was it you say Mrs. Jones Hyphen or Brown 
Hyphen ? ” 

Ambrose and his friend Judge Morris, who had 
accompanied the duke, stepped forward in time to 
hear this inquiry, and joined politely in the uncon- 
trollable merriment of Mrs. Weedahl. 

“ I am sorry, duke,” said the Jewess. “ I did not 
mean that you should make an error in pronouncing 
her name, but Mrs. Brown- Jones is very sensitive, 
and somewhat proud of the hyphen, which appears in 
her name. It was my fault, and I will apologize to 
her, as I do to you.” 

The duke’s face lighted up with a most amiable 
smile for his hostess, as he graciously assured her 
that he had nothing to forgive, and then his expres- 
sion became more thoughtful and indicated his 
thorough perception of the matter, as he said, — 


190 


The Client 


“ But you speak ze truth, madam, when you say 
she was spoiled in ze baking/’ 

“ Mr. Adolph Langley and Mr. Robert Wrenn,” 
announced the usher. Mrs. Weedahl then pre- 
sented Kourtomsky to the duke, and with Ambrose 
excused herself in order to greet Adolph and the 
detective. 

Bob, profuse in manner and perspiring in person, 
extended one hand to his hostess and the other to 
Ambrose, and appeared in a condition of speech- 
less rapture. His head assumed a sort of circular 
rolling motion, as bowing repeatedly he retained in 
his possession the hands of his hostess and our 
hero, as if he expected them by some magnetic in- 
fluence to restore to him the power of utterance. 
In the upward motion, as his face was visible, his 
lips were seen to move, but no sound came there- 
from, and it was only when he realized that his cap- 
tives were struggling to free themselves from his 
grasp, that he found his voice. 

“ Gee wizz, gee wizz, but this is great,” said the 
detective, and then his eyes, after taking in the 
beautiful room, modestly rested on the many 
lovely shoulders of the ladies ; he continued, “ an’ 
jes’ look at the shoulders. If we saw these ladies in 
bathin’ suits to-morrow, we’d know all about ’em. 
Their personal appearance is certainly great, and 
that reminds me of how I was riding in a crowded 
street car one day, and a sharp lurch of the car sent 
a pretty girl, who was standing, into the arms of a 
male who was seated. At the same time a fat 
colored lady fell into the arms of another male, who 
was seated. Nobody said anything, but the dif- 
ferent expressions on the faces of the two males were 


The Unbidden Guests 


191 

worth going miles to see. I never realized before 
how important it was to look nice.” 

“ Mr. Wrenn,” said the Jewess, “ like all other 
men, you are easily deceived. The supposed ‘ fe- 
male form divine ’ thanks to the costumer and per- 
fumer, often flatters the imagination, but shorn of 
these attributes it would almost invariably offend 
the senses.” 

After Adolph had greeted Mrs. Weedahl and his 
master, Annette approached the group, and tapping 
the shoulder of the stoical clerk with her fan, said 
with a happy smile, “ Now, Adolph, you never do 
talk much, but I know you can dance, and so I 
shall claim you at once. You must not forget that 
I entertained you at the Richelieu for two days, 
though you didn’t speak to me until you were 
nearly ready to go away, so now you must recip- 
rocate the courtesy by entertaining me.” 

Adolph similingly consented, and as Annette 
took his arm to go to the ballroom, Ambrose de- 
taining them, said in a low voice to Annette, “ Stay 
with Adolph ; your ex-husband seems to have eyes 
only for you.” 

“ Perhaps he is falling in love with me,” said 
Annette laughingly. “ Blessings brighten when 
they take their flight, you know.” 

“ But absence makes the heart grow fonder, 
fonder of the other fellow,” said Ambrose. 

“ Leave me with Adolph,” said Annette, “ and 
look around you ; somebody in company of Mrs. 
Brown-Jones has eyes only for you,” and with a 
look which Ambrose clearly understood, she was 
escorted by Adolph to the ballroom. As they thus 
left him, Ambrose saw his wife and Mrs. Brown- 


192 


The Client 


Jones talking together in the room adjoining, and 
as he reentered the reception-room, Mrs. Weedahl 
said, “ Ambrose, I really did not mean that Mrs. 
Brown-Jones should be offended. I wouldn’t be 
rude to a guest. Tell her the duke did not under- 
stand. You can fix it up, I know." 

“ I fear that I am unequal to the task," said Am- 
brose, “ but I will try." Then approaching the 
divan upon which his wife and the offended lady 
were seated, he expressed the regrets of Mrs. Weed- 
ahl, and explained that the duke’s error had been 
made by reason of the fact that when he had asked 
for an introduction to Mrs. Brown-Jones to the ex- 
clusion of other guests, and had remarked upon her 
distinguished appearance, Mrs. Weedahl in a desire 
to impress upon him the fact that Mrs. Brown-Jones 
was a patrician, had mentioned that her grandfather 
was a Carter, and her uncle a Smith, and that the 
name of Brown-Jones was written with a hyphen. 

“ So you see, Mrs. Brown-Jones," said Ambrose, 
“ the trouble has arisen entirely from the duke’s im- 
perfect knowledge of English, and his misunder- 
standing of what Mrs. Weedahl said." 

Mrs. Brown-Jones looked and felt very uncom- 
fortable and though pacified with the duke and Mrs. 
Weedahl, she was made by Ambrose’s apology very 
angry with herself. She felt that she had acted like 
a simpleton, and as neither the duke nor Mrs. Weed- 
ahl gave her further consideration, she found herself 
humiliated and punished by her own silly pride and 
powerless to remedy the matter save by a complete 
sacrifice of her dignity and self-respect. 

But it was now past the hour of midnight, and 
the social triumph of the Ogress was complete. A 


The Unbidden Guests 


193 


collation was being served in the banquet-room and 
about the corridors and porches adjoining. Salads, 
dainty ices and confections appeared and disap- 
peared. The constant popping of champagne corks 
mingled with the laughter of merry parties of guests 
standing in groups or seated at near-by tables, and 
the sounds of mirth and revelry became more up- 
roarious as the wine flowed faster and faster. Mrs. 
Weedahl, smiling and happy, was congratulated, 
praised and fawned upon until she would have felt 
justified in believing that the world was right and 
that she alone was wrong ; that she alone was un- 
grateful and unkind, and that the world at large was 
nothing but loyalty and love. But the Jewess knew 
in her heart that society in evening dress was but 
little different from society in business garb ; that 
Mr. Kourtomsky had once remarked that a swallow- 
tailed coat was not a suitable rig for shop lifting, 
and that a great many people would sell themselves 
in an effort to win a fifty cent euchre prize. Mr. 
Kourtomsky, when he said this, had not admitted 
that he himself was susceptible to such a weakness, 
but without seeking to prove or disprove this suspi- 
cion against him, the intelligent reader knows that, 
“ There are others.” 

And now the laughter and noisy revelry is almost 
drowned in the crashing music of the band which 
is playing the waltz, “ Nanon.” Ambrose had been 
dancing with Annette, and as the music ceases they 
walk flushed and warm to the outer pavilion. In 
a corner of the pavilion where the dense shade 
made the darkness profound, they bade each other 
good-night, and Annette, as she tremblingly sought 
to control the mad rebellious love that filled her 


194 


The Client 


heart, and weakly essayed to repulse that of her 
lover, had said with petulant decision, though the 
words died on her lips, “ for it must be good-night 
until to-morrow ; come, we must not stay here.” 
Then retracing their steps they saw in the recep- 
tion-hall adjoining, the wife of Ambrose seated at a 
table with Mrs. Weedahl. Near at hand were Bob 
Wrenn and Adolph, and at another table a short 
distance away was the sheriff with several politi- 
cians, who like himself were perceptibly feeling the 
influence of the wine they had taken. As Bob saw 
Ambrose and Annette enter the hall, he halted a 
waiter who at that moment was passing with a bot- 
tle of champagne. Bobs face was flushed and his 
manner was quite bold from the effects of wine, as 
he said, “ Come, judge, will you drink with us ? and 
you too, sheriff?” as Bob saw him turn and look 
toward him. 

“ We are going to drink the ‘ Navy Toast,’ 
sheriff. Here’s to our wives and sweethearts ; may 
they never meet.” 

But as Bob uttered these words, and in the dead 
silence that followed, an undefinable feeling of dread 
filled the heart of Ambrose, and indeed it seemed 
to be felt by all who thus heard the detective’s 
words. Ambrose turned sharply and, as he did so, 
he saw the slender, graceful figure of a woman 
closely veiled, standing in front of the doorway at 
the main entrance. The woman was clothed in a 
plain close fitting dress of cheap material, and the 
heavy veil over her face gave no clue to her identity, 
but both Ambrose and the sheriff recognized the 
frail figure, as it paused for a moment surveying the 
party with wine-glasses in their hands, but for a 


The Unbidden Guests 


195 


moment only, and then turning quickly it went 
noiselessly down the steps and speeding along the 
smooth walk was lost in the gloom beyond. 

“ Ruth, my sister,” said Ambrose in a low tone. 

“ It was Adele,” said the sheriff quietly, as he 
arose fearful and trembling and looked out into the 
night. 

Ambrose in company with Adolph went out and 
made a search of the adjacent grounds in the hope 
that he would find Ruth awaiting him at some 
near-by point, but their search was fruitless, and they 
returned assuming that she had gone straight to the 
house where she was stopping, a short distance 
away. Ambrose pondered deeply as to the motive 
of his sister in thus appearing to him, but could as- 
sign no other reason than one of curiosity to see as 
an unbidden guest the beauty of the mansion and 
park. 

And now, though some of the guests were leav- 
ing and carriages rolling up to the grand entrance 
conveyed to the waiting trains, the sounds of music 
and revelry seemed to increase rather than dimin- 
ish. The crashing music of the band seemed 
louder than ever; the wine flowed faster, and the 
gayety of the merry guests grew more hilarious. 
The incandescent stars in the park glowed with un- 
diminished brilliancy, but the fairies had disap- 
peared, and the park itself was deserted. Ambrose 
and Mrs. Weedahl with their immediate friends were 
seated in a pavilion outside of the ballroom. The 
music of the band rendered conversation difficult, 
and Ambrose, moodily engaged with his thoughts 
and intending to make the next train for home, im- 
patiently consulted his watch in his anxiety to leave. 


The Client 


196 

As he thus sat nervously waiting, he was startled by 
a very visible commotion at the side entrance. A 
minute more, and the old gardener, for many years 
a faithful employee of the Jewess, came bursting out 
upon the pavilion calling for his mistress, and with 
his voice and manner expressive of horror and con- 
sternation. “ Mrs. Weedahl, oh ! Mrs. Weedahl,” 
said he, “ a woman has been murdered, murdered in 
your own park. Come quick ! Come quick ! ” 

This awful information shouted by the gardener 
in a voice that rose above the crashing music of the 
band, sank deep in the hearts of those who heard 
his words. It was quickly conveyed to the musi- 
cians, and the music instantly ceased. Chairs were 
overturned ; tables were upset, and the crash of 
broken glasses was heard. Mrs. Weedahl and the 
ladies with her, sat as if frozen with terror. Am- 
brose, with an instinct born of the fate that had ever 
hedged about his life, felt that the gardener’s words 
portended an additional libation for his cup of mis- 
ery, and though the blood seemed to leave his 
heart as he uttered the words, he grasped in an in- 
stant the arm of the old gardener, as he fiercely 
said, “ Tell me who is she ? What does she look 
like ? ” 

“ Indeed, sir, I hardly know. She is a slender 
young woman, very plainly dressed. She is not 
dead, but I think she is dying. I heard her moans, 
and saw a man run as I approached her/' 

“ Show me where she is,” said Ambrose. 
“ Quick, come with me,” and still holding the old 
man’s arm, they rushed off in the direction the 
gardener had indicated. 

Mrs. Weedahl, now surrounded by her servants, 


The Unbidden Guests 197 

roused herself as she saw Ambrose with the old 
man, accompanied by Adolph, Bob Wrenn and 
other guests, disappear amid the trees. 

“ Call the coachman,” said she. “ Let him sad- 
dle a horse and ride to Raleigh. Let him get all 
the men he can to hunt the murderer. Where is 
the sheriff? Has he gone ? Tell him I want 
him.” 

But the sheriff, oblivious to all his surroundings, 
was snoring peacefully in a porch rocker at the 
front. The servants, in obedience to the commands 
of their mistress, hastened to the stables, but soon 
returned with the information that the coachman 
could not be found. 

“ Then run there yourselves ; come, ladies, let us 
go after them,” and the Jewess, followed by many 
others, followed in the direction that Ambrose and 
his party had taken. 

With the old gardener almost breathless, as Am- 
brose hurried him on, they soon reached the scene 
of the murder. Lying on the walk near the rustic 
bench where Ambrose had met his sister, was the 
body of a woman, whose faint moans showed that 
life still remained. A lantern flashed upon her face 
by the old gardener revealed at once her identity, 
and Ambrose, falling upon his knees in a torrent of 
grief, moaned in anguish, 

“ Ruth ! oh, Ruth, my sister, my poor sister, 
speak to me, speak to me.” 

An ugly gaping wound above her temple showed 
how she had been struck down, and the torn-up 
condition of the ground indicated the struggle she 
had made ; also the soil was red with blood 
from the frightful wound in her head. As 


The Client 


198 

Ambrose took her hand and uttered her name, her 
eyelids trembled for an instant and then opened, 
and a faint smile appeared on her face, as she rec- 
ognized her brother. 

“ She lives, she lives, 1 " he almost shouted. “ You 
will live, Ruth ; be brave, little sister. You must 
live for me. Tell me who did this, who did 
this ? ” 

In a voice so faint that Ambrose placed his ear 
to her mouth to catch the words, she said, “ It was 
the half-breed coachman, the negro who works for 
Mrs. Weedahl ” 

“ She says," said Ambrose, turning to the as- 
sembled men, “ that it was the half-breed negro 
coachman, who works for Mrs. Weedahl. Witness 
this, all you men. Was that what you said, 
sister ? " 

“ Yes,” was the answer of the dying woman in a 
voice that all could hear. 

Ruth’s eyes were again closed, and at this mo- 
ment a physician who had been one of the guests, 
came running toward them, considerably in ad- 
vance of Mrs. Weedahl and her party, who now 
drew near. The physician hurriedly knelt over the 
prostrate form, and administered a restorative ; then 
feeling her pulse and noting her faintly beating 
heart, he shook his head negatively. 

“ Cannot she be moved from here ? " said Am- 
brose with an imploring look at the doctor. 

“ No," said the physician, and he again turned to 
the dying woman, as he noticed a quivering move- 
ment pass over her body, and she lay quite still. 
He felt for her pulse and then pressed his ear 
against her breast for a moment. Then arising and 


The Unbidden Guests 


199 

placing his hand on the shoulder of Ambrose, he 
said, “ She is dead.” 

At this information Ambrose, grasping the life- 
less hands of his sister, kissed her lovingly in grief 
beyond the power of expression. He thus re- 
mained weeping silently, still kneeling by her pros- 
trate form, and in unison with those whose tears 
flowed in sympathy, still praying to an Almighty 
God. Presently in a low, subdued tone, seemingly 
in communion with the departed spirit of his sister, 
his voice choked with sobs, his utterances incoher- 
ent and sentences broken and scarcely intelligible, 

he moaned, “ Here, dear Ruth, you met me 

We were parted so long You remember me; 

your boy brother, and your dolls You prayed 

for God’s forgiveness and mine You had 

promised God You promised me — you would 

not sin again Here, where you made the 

promise, you died in keeping it You watered 

this soil with your tears of repentance, as you 
prayed, and now it is soaked with your life- 
blood You died defending the honor God 

gave you in repentance You died a victim of 

the wanton lust of a half-breed negro fiend I, 

your brother, will avenge you — through the law — 
I will be your avenger — Ruth, I will avenge 
you.” 

And again giving way to his uncontrollable grief, 
he leaned forward to caress the lifeless remains. 

But now from among the group of silent, awe- 
stricken guests, whose presence is unnoted by Am- 
brose as he kneels in despairing grief and prayer, a 
woman steps forward — a woman who in the purity 
of her love seeks only to console and comfort him, 


200 The Client 

as her gentle hand is laid upon his shoulder in a 
loving caress. 

“ Come, Ambrose, dear.” 

It is the voice of his wife, mournful and pathetic, 
“ Come with me.” 


CHAPTER XII 


IN WHICH MISGUIDED PUBLIC SENTIMENT REACHES 
THE LOWEST STAGES OF DEPRAVITY, AND IN 
WHICH THE AUTHOR AGAIN RISKS OFFENDING 
IT BY TELLING THE TRUTH 

Leaving Adolph and a few trustworthy serv- 
ants in charge of the dead body of his unfortunate 
sister, Ambrose and other guests returned with 
Mrs. Weedahl to the mansion. The coroner was 
hastily summoned, and by his authority the body 
of Ruth was removed to the cottage where she had 
lived. But the festival at Berylwood was ended, 
and as the awed and sorrowful party approached 
the house through the illuminated groves, the bril- 
liancy of the interior with waving palms and flowers 
seemed to jar upon them. The odors of wine 
and roses were alternately perceptible: American 
beauties crushed by the tread of careless feet ; tables 
littered with dishes ; glasses partly filled with wine, 
were left untouched. The dismayed guests, mov- 
ing about as if in fear, quietly conversed in whis- 
pers as they hastened their preparations for de- 
parture ; for as if to mock this display of worldly 
pride, as did the unseen hand at Belshazzar’s Feast, 
two unbidden guests had appeared, the one a poor 
despised wreck on the ocean of life, the other that 
great unwelcome visitor who claims all seasons for 
his own. The silence compared with the revelry 
of the preceding hour was painful, and was broken 
only by the rumbling of carriages as they rolled up 


202 


The Client 


to the grand entrance ; the sharp reports of closing 
carriage doors which echoed about the portals of 
the mansion, and the hoof beats of impatient horses, 
as the guests were conveyed to a belated train. 
The musicians quietly disappeared ; caterers and 
waiters noiselessly removed the debris of the feast. 
The lights were gradually extinguished, and soon, 
with the exception of a few orderly servants flitting 
about, the mansion was apparently deserted. In 
the meantime, in the privacy of an up-stairs room, 
Mrs. Weedahl with Ambrose and others, was busily 
engaged in a discussion of the best means to be 
employed in the apprehension of the murderer. In 
a few hours it would be dawn. The sheriff had 
been aroused from his slumbers and duly advised 
of the murder. Trembling with horror as the ter- 
rible facts were related to him, and with an em- 
phasized consciousness of his own guilt, the news 
completely sobered him. He expressed a desire to 
avoid meeting Mrs. Weedahl and Ambrose in their 
consultation, but with the assurance that he would 
at once go in to Raleigh and send out messengers 
to hunt for, and, if possible, to capture the half- 
breed, he took his departure. 

“ He is a smart nigger,” said Bob Wrenn, who 
had been quietly listening to the discussion, “ and 
so we must imagine, as well as we can, just what a 
smart nigger would do. The gardener says that all 
the horses are in the stable, so unless he steals one 
somewhere, he won’t get far away. He can’t travel 
after daylight, for he knows that everybody will be 
looking for him. He will hide somewhere, and lay 
low until night comes again. If we can get men 
enough to work and hunt for him to-day, we may 


Misguided Public Sentiment 203 

catch him, but if he gets another night he may 
escape.” 

His auditors fully appreciated the wisdom of 
Bob’s remarks and the necessity for immediate 
action. Ambrose handed Bob a few bank-notes, 
with instructions to ’phone and telegraph to all 
near-by points an account of the tragedy, and a 
description of the murderer. As Bob arose to 
leave, Adolph entered the room and was instructed 
by Ambrose to go with Bob, and to return after 
daylight and report on what had been done. As 
Bob and Adolph left the room, Mrs. Weedahl, ex- 
cusing herself, arose and followed them. She de- 
tained Bob, and at her request he followed her to 
her own apartment. 

“Mr. Wrenn,” said the Jewess, “I am told by 
Judge Pierce that you are an honest man, and also 
a clever one. I want you to take a few private 
instructions from me. I want you to post a reward 
of $1,000 for that hound, dead or alive.” Then 
opening a safe, she said, “ And I want you to take 
this money and use it. I cannot and would not 
offer it to Judge Pierce,” and she placed a huge 
roll of notes of large denominations in the hands 
of the astonished detective. “ I want you to get 
every man in Raleigh or near by to work as soon 
as you can ; pay them in advance. Hire horses ; 
send men in every direction ; get them started 
quickly, and spare no expense. If you need more 
money, come to me. My festival has ended in a 
horrible murder, and worst of all the crime was 
committed by a servant of mine. I have spent a 
fortune in giving a foolish show, and I will spend 
another fortune, if need be, in putting a rope about 


204 


The Client 


the neck of that miserable beast. Now go, quickly, 
and do not sleep or rest until you have him.” 

During the discussion which had preceded this 
action of Mrs. Weedahl, Ambrose, whose emotions 
were alternately those of rage and grief, had been 
most intently watched by his wife, who as she thus 
in silence gazed upon him, seemed to feel only 
anxiety and dismay. For knowing as she did the 
liberal mind of her husband and his conservative 
views as to the punishment of crime, she felt a 
sense of alarm, as she endeavored to read his 
thoughts, and to surmise the attitude and action he 
would take when in this case the hand of the mur- 
derer in a most crucial test of his judicial honor and 
consistency, had struck home at his own flesh and 
blood. So his wife and Annette had both watched 
him closely and wonderingly during the discussion. 
His silence and reserve had seemed almost tanta- 
mount to indifference. As he nervously moved in 
his chair, it was difficult to determine whether he 
was busy with his own thoughts or listening to the 
opinion of others ; for, while at times he seemed to 
take an intelligent interest in what was said, in an 
absent-minded way he frowned darkly at some kind 
expression of sympathy or offer of assistance, and 
it was only when Mrs. Weedahl returned to the 
room and expressed the limit of her indignation, 
that he roused himself from the depths of his 
troubled mediation, and a strange light of intelli- 
gent interest shone in his eyes. 

“ I hope they will catch him and burn him alive, 
the hound,” said the Jewess, her red eyes gleaming 
with rage, and her massive frame shaking with emo- 
tion, as she noted the silent, despairing attitude of 


Misguided Public Sentiment 205 

Ambrose, and felt a sense of personal disgrace, as 
she thought that innocently, but indirectly some 
degree of responsibility rested up.on her. “ I hope 
they will burn him at the stake. Hanging is too 
good for him.” 

It was then, as Mrs. Weedahl uttered these 
words that the apathy of Ambrose disappeared. 
He seemed to throw off his dejection and despair. 
He passed his hand across his brow, as if to brush 
away the clouds that obscured his perception, and 
as he arose from his chair, and the fleeting shadow 
of a smile appeared upon his face, Mrs. Weedahl, 
with quick intuition, could see that the man and 
the judge stood before her. At this action of her 
attorney, this silent reproof, for Ambrose uttered 
not a word, the hard lines in the face of the Jewess 
softened, and her voice and words became concilia- 
tory, as she resumed her seat and continued, “ I 
know, Ambrose, you are a lawyer and a judge. Oh ! 
if all other lawyers and judges were like you. I 
expected this attitude on your part. I am proud 
of myself for expecting it and proud of you, as I 
find my expectations realized.” 

“ Your implied confidence in me, and your praise 
is far more than I deserve, Mrs. Weedahl,” said Am- 
brose. “ It is true, I would not counsel violence, 
and would prevent it if I could, but my heart is full 
of revenge. If they catch him, let the task of 
sending him to the gallows be mine. I promise 
you that, through the law, I will do my work the 
best I can.” 

“ Well, now, Ambrose,” said his hostess, “ we 
can do no more good by sitting here. You must 


2 o 6 The Client 

go to bed and rest until Adolph returns and reports 
to you.” 

“ If you will allow me,” said Ambrose, “ I will 
remain right here. It is now near dawn, and I 
would like to be alone for a while. I will rest on 
this couch a little, for I cannot sleep, and wish to 
think the matter over.” 

Mrs. Weedahl consented to this arrangement, 
but stipulated that Ambrose and his wife should re- 
main at Berylwood as her guests, while a search 
was being made for the murderer. Ambrose, real- 
izing that this would facilitate his efforts to capture 
the negro, gratefully accepted the invitation, and 
the ladies withdrew from the room. 

Ambrose then stretched himself upon the couch, 
and with closed eyes but sleepless brain, he strug- 
gled alone with his conflicting emotions. Alternate 
curses and prayers possessed his heart and mind, 
and fought for the ascendancy. He thought of the 
negro and cursed him. He thought of his sister 
and prayed to God, and wondered if to her, death 
was the end of all ? He thought of his wife and 
prayed for her. He thought of himself, and cursed 
the motives that had inspired his marriage, and 
upon which he fixed the real responsibility for his 
married misery. He thought how an hour ago he 
had, with fleeting stolen glances noticed his wife 
watching him with dismay and loving anxiety, and 
had felt that he was again on the rack of impeach- 
ment. He thought of Annette, his victim, and 
cursed himself again. With a moan that was 
almost a sharp cry of despair, he writhed upon the 
couch as he remembered the troubled, tearful look of 
helpless love she had bestowed upon him. He 


Misguided Public Sentiment 207 

thought of the Jewess, the medium through whose 
subtle but indirect agency he had been in his love 
for Annette, alternately transported to Paradise and 
kicked down to Hades. He thought of how, as 
they thus sat together, she had with silent conscious- 
ness and a knowledge of his most secret thoughts, 
watched him, — an unhappy man in the presence of 
his wife and mistress ; watched him, as he sorrowed 
alone in the presence of one woman, who had the 
right to comfort him, but could not, and of another 
who had the power and dared not. Thus hopeless 
and alone, he endured the keenest torments of per- 
dition as he had long endured them, repulsing the 
cup of gall and wormwood that was ever out- 
stretched toward him, and vainly fighting for the 
water of life that was held beyond his reach. He 
felt that in the minds of these three women, he had 
as a man been subjected to a crucial analysis ; that 
in his despairing grief at the loss of a depraved sis- 
ter, they had made a new estimate of him ; that he 
had shown a depth of feeling, which was incon- 
sistent with his habitual mask of indifference and 
reserve, and then he said, — “ Mrs. Weedahl is proud 
of me ; Annette pities and loves me, and my wife 
feels more than all else, a sense of wonder that I 
should show such grief and love for a strumpet, 
when my heart to her seems emotionless and dead,” 
and here his eyes opened and an ironical smile stole 
over his face. “ And so,” he said, “ I am an 
honest judge ; an honest lawyer. She didn’t say 
‘ honest husband/ but she might have said * worthy 
brother/ It isn’t always an easy matter to live up 
to a reputation, good or bad,” and then his thoughts 
reverted to the horrible death of his sister. “ Curse 


208 


The Client 


the fiend,” he said. “ If they catch him, and they 
surely will, he will be lynched. Shall I help them ? 
I her only brother ? Shall I lead the mob with 
torch, rope and gun ? Would it not be fitting and 
appropriate ? The brother of an outcast woman ; a 
deposed judge, whose decisions shocked the 
morality of a community ; a hireling lawyer, who 
ekes out an existence as the tool of disreputable men 
and women ; a husband, who forsakes his wife and 
in adultery imperils his own soul and that of an in- 
nocent woman, who sought his aid and protection. 
How deeply have I wronged them both. Ah ! 
woman ! In whose name man achieves his greatest 
glory, or for whom he sinks to direst misery ; since 
the day that Judas betrayed the Great Nazarene 
with a kiss, you have ever been most unhappy vic- 
tims of that damnable duplicity the arch traitor 
thus taught his sons. So, why should I not carry 
the torch, the red flag of anarchy, and lead the 
mob ? Why should I respect the law when that re- 
spect subjects me to naught but hell? Why should 
I respect the law, when my interpretation of its 
justice is an insult to modern morals? Why should 
I seek to restrain a mob of people from committing 
murder, when such action would be tacitly approved 
by municipal authorities and high Christian citi- 
zens ? Why should I not justify to the world my 
accredited reputation? No, no, I will not. I 
would not,” and he wiped away with a handker- 
chief the great drops of perspiration that stood 
upon his brow. 

As the gray dawn of day struggled through the 
window, it revealed the haggard, drawn lines of his 
face, and with set teeth, he moaned again. “ But I 


Misguided Public Sentiment 209 

will avenge you, Ruth, my poor sister. I will avenge 
you. I swear it, even though the law should fail.” 

Thus Ambrose remained until the brightness of 
the early summer morn heralded the rising sun. 
Then sitting upright upon the couch, he said, — “I 
must go down-stairs. Perhaps Adolph has returned, 
and is awaiting me.” 

He entered a bathroom, and after making a hasty 
toilet, he went down and out upon the porch. 
Adolph had not yet returned. Meeting a servant, 
he asked for coffee and rolls. These were served 
him in the breakfast-room, and he then went out 
front, and for an hour or more paced to and fro 
upon the broad piazza. A bell rang, announcing 
breakfast, yet none of the ladies had appeared. At 
that moment a light wagon stopped in front, and 
Ambrose saw two servants carrying a trunk. With 
idle curiosity, he inquired, “ Who is leaving so 
early ? ” 

“ It is Mrs. Caldwell’s baggage, sir,” said the man, 
touching his cap respectfully. 

“ Oh, is it? Yes, I see.” He made no further 
comment to the man, but turned away muttering 
bitterly to himself, “ Of course, it is not a matter in 
which I am to be consulted. She goes and comes. 
It is no business of mine. She goes, because she 
cannot stay here now. When I need her so much, 
I must be denied even the privilege of looking at her.” 

He then entered the hall, and as he did so, An- 
nette came down the stairs, wearing a hat and 
street costume. Beneath the lashes of her lovely 
eyes, Ambrose could see traces of unshed tears. 
She silently touched his arm, and they entered an 
adjoining room. 


210 


The Client 


“ I am so helpless,” she said, as she wiped from 
her eyes the unbidden tears, which she could not 
restrain, “ and I cannot be otherwise here. Good' 
bye, and God help you and bless you.” 

As they thus remained together, the fleeting 
minutes passed to them unconsciously, and again 
the breakfast bell rang, and the sound of footsteps 
was heard in the adjoining hall. 

“ Oh, here comes somebody,” said Annette petu- 
lantly. “ I suppose I must eat, and what will you do?” 

“ I shall eat with you,” said Ambrose, as a serv- 
ant appeared at the door, and addressing the lady, 
announced, “ Your breakfast is ready.” 

“ Yes, thank you,” said Annette, “ I am coming 
at once,” and then, as the servant went away she 
looked into the eyes of her lover somewhat anx- 
iously, frightened by the audacity of his proposal, 
and said hesitatingly, “ But it won’t be just quite 
proper, will it ? ” 

“ It will be quite as proper as remaining here,” 
said Ambrose with a smile ; “ also, please remember 
that I am hungry, and necessity knows no law, not 
even that of propriety. I have been out on the 
porch for more than two hours, and under the cir- 
cumstances, I am quite sure that in eating my 
breakfast now, Mrs. Pierce will excuse me, and Mrs. 
YVeedahl will forgive me.” 

And again, as they bade each other good-bye, 
the minutes passed unconsciously. Presently the 
butler came along the hall, again with heavy foot- 
steps, and this time coughing quite deliberately. 

“ Oh, dear,” said Annette, smiling. “ He is com- 
ing after us. I’ll give him a voice lozenge. He is 
entirely too wise.” 


Misguided Public Sentiment 21 1 

The smooth shaven face of the discreet butler, 
however, bore no trace of undue wisdom, as he 
bowed ceremoniously, and raising his hand to his 
mouth, partially suppressed an apologetic cough, as 
Annette, with blushing face, followed by Ambrose, 
appeared in the hall and hastened to the breakfast- 
room. 

“ Does Mrs. Weedahl know you are leaving ? ” 
said Ambrose, as they were seated at the table. 

44 Oh, yes, I told her about it after we left you. 
I told her I simply could not endure it to stay here, 
and be silent. She said she understood, and I said 
I would leave on an early train before she was up. 
I am so glad I was an 4 early bird/ for once, as I 
caught you,” and Annette smiled brightly. 

44 And I,” said Ambrose , 44 as a worm, congratu- 
late myself in being out in time to get caught.” 

44 Pass the cream, please,” said Annette demurely. 
I’ll forgive you for being absent-minded now ; ” and 
then — 44 did you sleep after we left you ? ” 

44 No,” said Ambrose quietly. 44 I did some think- 
ing. Did you sleep ? ” 

44 No, I packed my trunk, and then, like you, I 
thought. I thought how bad I was, and how good I 
would like to be with you.” 

The pathetic, plaintive tone of her voice as she 
said this found a responsive chord in the heart of 
her lover, whose only immediate answer was a sigh, 
but after a moment’s silence, he said , 44 Well, we are 
not as bad as some people, because we have sense 
enough not to let the public know how bad we 
really are.” 

44 Then,” said Annette, 44 the worst sin is to be 
found out ? ” 


212 


The Client 


“ Yes,” said Ambrose, “ and the vowels of 4 found 
out ’ are ‘o, u’ twice over.” 

“ What did the sheriff say when he was told of 
your sisters death ? ” said Annette. 

“ They say he was very kind and sympathetic, 
but I am not sure. In fact, I have often wondered 
whether the wise man who said, ‘ Speak gently of the 
erring,’ used the words in a spirit of sympathy or 
discretion. I understand also that the sheriff has 
said that he is morally opposed to divorce, and has 
grieved a great deal over your action in thus leaving 
him. In his grief, the cash feature may have been 
a consideration to some extent, but he is reported 
to have said that the hand of Providence witnesses 
all marriage contracts.” 

“ Well,” said Annette, “ I think if Providence had 
anything to do with my marriage contract, He re- 
pudiated His connection with it long before I did.” 

“ It is a good thing,” said Ambrose, “ to take life 
philosophically, if we can, and to grade our own 
moral status with precision. I always like to feel 
that there are a great many people in this world 
who morally are better than I am, and also that 
there are some who are worse.” 

They finished their breakfast undisturbed by 
either Mrs. Weedahl or the wife, but the presence 
of servants afforded them no further opportuni- 
ties for privacy, and they were forced to content 
themselves with commonplace remarks and stolen 
glances, whose meanings, so well understood, were 
not commonplace at all. They thus remained at 
the table satisfied in the hopelessness of greater 
consolation, to have remained there indefinitely, 
for, such is the perfection of a complete affinity of 


Misguided Public Sentiment 213 

sex, that words are superfluous, and the eyes, 
“ windows of the soul,” are the only mediums 
necessary for the accurate interpretation of thor- 
ough congeniality, but as they sat thus pensively 
regarding each other, unwilling to part, and yet 
realizing that each fleeting moment brought the 
time for parting nearer, Ambrose felt in his despera- 
tion that his eyes alone could not express his every 
thought with requisite precision, so he said, “ I shall 
return to the city in a very few days.” But here 
the discreet butler entered the breakfast-room, and 
announced to Annette, “ Madam, the carriage is 
waiting for you, and you will have just time enough 
to make the eight o’clock train,” upon which An- 
nette rose from the table, and in a moment more 
was on her way to the station. 

After Annette had gone, Ambrose, still arrayed 
in a dress suit, telephoned to the Portland, and re- 
quested Mr. Grill to go to his apartments and to 
send a messenger with some necessary changes of 
clothing for himself and Mrs. Pierce. Then light- 
ing a cigar, he went down the serpentine road to 
the entrance-gate, and the emotions in his heart 
were very different from those of the preceding 
hour. He was now the man in whom all feelings 
of love were banished. He was a lawyer, cold and 
judicial; a judge, in whose heart sentiment and 
mercy were under the absolute control of justice. 
He eagerly looked down the road, and waited for 
Adolph to return. 

“ What can he be doing that requires so 
much time ? ” he said. Ambrose was, of course, 
unaware of what Mrs. Weedahl had done, and 
of what she had required Bob to do, but Bob, with 


214 The Client 

the assistance of Adolph, had done his work 
well. 

Ambrose, as he looked down the road, could 
plainly see the cottage in which lay the body of his 
sister. He noticed at the gate a long, black car- 
riage, and occasionally men passed in and out of 
the house. 

“ I will go there now, even if my visit is ill- 
timed,” he said, walking down the road. He soon 
reached the house, and entered the open front 
door. As he stood in the hallway, the undertaker 
appeared, and noticing the strange gentleman in a 
dress suit, eyed him curiously. 

“ I am her brother,” said Ambrose in explanation. 
“ Is she — could I see her now ? ” 

“ I am very sorry,” said the undertaker in kindly 
polite tones. “You could not see her now, and 
owing to my treatment of her face, you should not 
see her until late this afternoon.” 

The woman who kept the house, now appeared 
and recognizing Ambrose, at once was profusely 
fawning in manner and conciliatory in speech, as 
she saw that some one was apparently interested in 
the burial of the poor victim, and that she would 
be paid for her trouble. 

“ Your sister was a good woman, Mr. Pierce, a 
fine woman. She used to be a little gay and didn’t 
seem to care much, but she had changed; she 
was ” 

“ Tell me,” said Ambrose, interrupting her with 
an impatient frown, “ what time did she leave here 
last night, and did she say anything to you before 
leaving ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I was in bed when she went out. I 


Misguided Public Sentiment 215 

had just gone to bed, for we had been sitting out 
on the porch, listening to the music and looking at 
the lights. Your sister came to my room with a 
hat on and a heavy veil over her face, and said, 
‘ Mrs. Boger, I am going over to see the house and 
park. No one will recognize me through this veil. 
I will be back soon, so don’t lock the door.’ It was 
then about half-past twelve, for I had heard the 
clock strike some time before. Poor girl, she didn’t 
come back as she expected.” 

“ No,” said Ambrose. “ Now tell me, when did 
you notice this change for the better in my sister’s 
conduct ? ” 

“ Why, sir, it was right after the day that she 
went down to the sheriff’s office and exposed him 
and herself too. She scarcely went out of the house 
after that day, and no one called here to see her. I 
tell you, sir, the people of Raleigh pitied her, but 
they said the sheriff got what he deserved.” 

Ambrose questioned the woman at length, and 
learned that the half-breed coachman had one day 
in passing the house impudently accosted her, and 
asked her to ride with him, but that Ruth had made 
no reply. He notified the woman that she would 
be required as a witness if the half-breed was cap- 
tured, and then learned that Adolph had made ar- 
rangements for the burial of Ruth in the Raleigh 
cemetery, on the morning of the following day, 
which would be Sunday, but that the arrangements 
were to be subject to the approval of his master. 
Ambrose saw no reason for changing the plans of 
his clerk, and while thus seated on the cottage 
porch, he saw Adolph coming up the hill, and 
hastened out to meet him. 


2l6 


The Client 


“ He will have something of a job to get away,” 
said Adolph quietly. “ Fully three hundred men, 
half of them on horseback, are already scouring 
the country, and carrying with them to be posted, 
notices of the reward.” 

“ What reward ? ” said Ambrose. 

“ Oh, I thought you knew,” said Adolph, and 
then he told his master of what Mrs. Weedahl had 
done, and how Bob had used the large amount of 
money she had given him, and how strong and 
willing men had quickly responded to its magic 
influence. 

“ I always said she had a heart,” said Ambrose 
with feeling, and his eyes were dimmed with 
moisture, “ but no one would believe it.” 

As they walked up the winding driveway to the 
mansion, Ambrose saw his wife and Mrs. Weedahl 
awaiting them on the steps at the entrance. They 
had felt some anxiety at his absence, though the 
butler had told them, “ Judge Pierce had break- 
fasted with Mrs. Caldwell, and after her departure 
he had lighted a cigar and gone out for a walk.” 
They had then correctly guessed where he was, and 
so greeted him quietly and made no comment in 
regard to his absence. 

The party, then seated on the porch, discussed 
at length the efforts that were being made to cap- 
ture the negro, and then Adolph returned to 
Raleigh, where in the hotel office he had es- 
tablished his headquarters, and was a medium of 
communication for those engaged in the search. 
Ambrose using the 'phone at Berylwood, commu- 
nicated with a number of distant points, and fre- 
quently with Adolph at the Raleigh House. At 


Misguided Public Sentiment 217 

noon, a messenger arrived with his clothing from 
the Portland, and the change from dress suit to 
business garb was quickly made. 

During the afternoon, Adolph ’phoned him that 
the excitement existing in Raleigh was growing 
worse, and that frequent threats of lynching were 
heard on all sides. Ambrose then called up the 
sheriff, and inquired if he was taking proper meas- 
ures to prevent a lynching. 

“ Yes,” said the sheriff, “ I have heard that many 
threats of lynching have been made, and have taken 
the precaution to swear in twelve extra officers, who 
will defend the jail, if the negro is caught. I doubt 
very much, however, that we can make a successful 
defense. The sentiment for lynching is very 
strong. You know my personal feelings in the 
matter, and you know I am more or less unpopular. 
I shall do what I think is best in the way of official 
duty.” 

Ambrose realized at once that the unpopular 
sheriff was considering public sentiment at the sac- 
rifice of official duty, and that while he proposed to 
make a show of upholding the law, his real pur- 
pose was to restore in some degree his lost prestige 
as a politician, by giving up the prisoner after a 
slight show of resistance. Ambrose felt that it was 
no time to mince words, and knowing the sheriff to 
be a coward at heart, and that he would be in- 
fluenced by any argument of force that promised 
him personal safety, he felt that a threat would be the 
only effective incentive to secure from this official a 
proper performance of duty. So in peremptory 
tones, the meaning of which could not be mistaken, 
he said, “ I shall expect you and your men, sheriff, 


2l8 


The Client 


to do their duty. I shall expect you to prevent a 
lynching if the murderer is caught, even at the risk 
of your lives. I will help you if you need me. 
Remember, sheriff, there must be no treachery. It 
is my right to demand this of you. It is the right 
of the brother of Adele Moran, who with Burt 
Strieker, your hired tool, went to the Richelieu, and 
for you sought to blackmail your wronged wife 
and me. Be sure to defend your prisoner, if you 
get him, sheriff. If you fail, you shall answer to me.” 

Shortly after this telephone interview with the 
sheriff, a fleet saddle horse, which had been reserved 
for the use of Ambrose, was brought around front, 
and vaulting to the back of the beautiful animal, 
Ambrose went for a short ride. He went out in 
the country for a few miles, and then returning 
stopped at the cottage where the body of his sister, 
robed for the grave, was lying. For nearly an hour 
he remained in the little darkened parlor, alone with 
the dead, and until the increasing shadows in the 
room told of the coming twilight. As he sorrow- 
fully arose to leave the room, he heard the distant 
shouting of men, and the clattering feet of horses 
in the distance, and rushing to the cottage porch, 
he saw coming a carriage drawn by a team of 
horses on the run and reeking with foam, and the 
driver frantically lashing them with a whip. The 
carriage was followed by many men on horseback, 
but owing to the cloud of dust, Ambrose could not 
determine the number. As they dashed past the 
cottage the face of the detective was seen peering 
forward, and as Bob recognized Ambrose on the 
porch, he waved his hand and shouted, “ We’ve got 
him, — come on,” 


Misguided Public Sentiment 219 

Ambrose had not waited for this invitation, but 
he untied his horse as the cavalcade swept by, and 
leaping into the saddle, he soon passed the other 
horsemen, and in a minute more was beside the 
carriage, where he could see the cowering half- 
breed, handcuffed and bound by a rope to the body 
of the dectective. As Ambrose thus looked upon 
the fiend, who had so cruelly murdered his sister, 
he extended his clinched fist toward the trembling 
wretch, and the murderous rage in his heart found 
vent as he said, “ Curse you! You devil!” His 
words could not be heard above the noise of clat- 
tering hoofs, but his clinched extended fist was 
enough for the men to determine the import of his 
words, and a roar of angry approval greeted his 
action. Ambrose at once realized the temper of 
the horsemen, and restraining his anger, rode up to 
the front of the carriage. 

“ We found him in a barn hidden beneath the 
hay, about six miles from here, near North wood,” 
shouted Bob. Ambrose looked his appreciation of 
Bob’s successful efforts in a grateful smile, but made 
no further remarks, and soon without slackening 
their relentless pace they were galloping through 
the main street of Raleigh to the jail, followed by 
an increasing mob of angry citizens, men and 
women, who, as they caught a glimpse of the pris- 
oner at the side of the well-known detective, yelled, 
“ There he is ! — Lynch him ! Lynch him ! ” 

As they neared the jail, the crowds of people im- 
peded their progress, but as there was no organized 
resistance to the law, they fell back before the pranc- 
ing horses, and soon the carriage stopped in front 
of the jail. About the steps of the jail was a guard 


220 


The Client 


of a dozen or more armed men, and in the street 
and square fronting it, was a motley crowd of citi- 
zens, yelling and shouting. As the detective and 
an assistant dragged the half-breed from the car- 
riage, the crowd surged in and closely surrounded 
the prisoner and his guards. 

“ Lynch him ! Lynch him ! ” they yelled. 

And as several lusty men pushed their way 
through the crowd, they shouted, — 

“ Give him to us. We’ll save all expense to the 
county.” 

The sheriff and his assistants fought back the 
crowd, and struggled toward the door of the jail 
with their prisoner, but as the noise of the riot in- 
creased, Ambrose saw that Bob and the officers 
were likely to be overpowered. Pistol shots were 
heard, and the tumult made the spirited horse of 
Ambrose uncontrollable. Rearing and plunging, 
he was guided by the hand of Ambrose toward the 
struggling officers and their prisoner. 

“ Back,” he cried. “ Stand back,” and still hold- 
ing his horse’s head in the direction of the jail steps, 
he struck the plunging animal with his whip, and 
as its forefeet cleaved the air, the would-be lynchers 
slunk away and in front of the struggling horse 
and rider, and the officers bore their prisoner 
through the open doors of the jail, which were in- 
stantly closed and barred behind them. 

Ambrose was willing that his horse should be 
held responsible for this failure of the mob to secure 
its prey, and though he was looked upon with sus- 
picion by some, one of the most active of the 
leaders dispelled all doubts by saying, 

“ Why, it was the gal’s brother. He didn't mean 


Misguided Public Sentiment 221 

to interfere with us. His horse was badly scared 
and he couldn’t manage it.” 

Ambrose rode around to the stables of the Raleigh 
House, and leaving his horse in the care of an at- 
tendant, he returned to the jail. Drawn up about 
the entrance, he found a dozen men with rifles, and 
the mob rapidly diminishing, as they saw that noth- 
ing but an organized assault with arms would be 
effective. 

Ambrose went into the sheriff’s office, but that 
officer was strangely reserved and non-committal in 
his replies to the lawyer’s remarks, but Bob Wrenn, 
with a wink which only Ambrose saw, said, “ Judge, 
your horse’s fit came on at jest the right time. It 
saved me an’ the other men from using our guns.” 

Ambrose sought Adolph at the hotel, and ’phoned 
out to Beryl wood to advise his wife and Mrs. Weedahl 
of his safety, and of the fact that the prisoner was 
in jail. He then remained in the hotel exchange 
until nine o’clock that evening, and though the ex- 
change was full of excited people, whose only topic 
of conversation seemed to be the murder, there 
were no open threats of violence, save from a few 
loud-mouthed, half-drunken men, whose condition 
of intoxication alone attracted attention, and whose 
maudlin words created a sentiment, the reverse of 
which they hoped to inspire. Bob at length came 
in, and seeking out Ambrose and his clerk, he 
said, — 

“ I say, judge, what do you think of the sheriff? 
He acts to me as if he was on the fence.” 

“ I feel pretty sure of it, Bob,” said Ambrose. 
“ Tell me, what have you noticed ? ” 

“ Well, he told the men to-night that if a lynch- 


222 


The Client 


ing party stormed the jail, they must not fire on 
them under any circumstances, unless he gave the 
order to do so.” 

“ And he will be very slow in giving the order,” 
said Ambrose. 

“ And he has ordered the men to load with blank 
cartridges,” said Bob, “ and says that no blood must 
be shed, except as a last resort.” 

As Bob made these statements, a momentary 
expression of helplessness appeared on the face 
of Ambrose, but it was quickly succeeded by one of 
inflexible determination, as he said, “ Well, if the 
sheriff desires to evade his duty, it is an easy matter 
for him to do so, and we cannot convict him of 
wilful negligence, if the prisoner is lynched. But 
what you say makes my duty a plain one. I shall 
try hard to prevent a lynching, Bob. Can I count 
on you to help me ? ” 

“ Yes, judge,” said Bob, quietly, “ you can count 
on me,” and then after a moment he continued, 
“ But they won’t do anything to-night. There is 
no organization. It takes men with nerve to do 
these things. A lot of them must get together 
and make their plans in secret, and then each of 
these men must go separately and get others, and 
then they will meet out of town somewhere, and 
march to the jail between midnight and morning, 
when everybody is in bed, and the jail guards per- 
haps asleep. They may not organize at all, but if 
they do, it won’t be to-night.” 

Ambrose felt that Bob was right, and after in- 
structing Adolph to go to bed, and exacting a 
promise from Bob that he would telephone him at 
any hour if he felt that his presence was needed, 


Misguided Public Sentiment 223 

lie mounted his horse and rode out to Berylwood 
where his wife and Mrs. Weedahl anxiously awaited 
him. 

The night passed without further incident, and 
Ambrose slept peacefully. On the following morn- 
ing at ten o’clock, in company with his wife and 
Mrs. Weedahl, he attended the funeral of his sister. 
The interment took place in the little cemetery 
near Raleigh, and with the exception of the clergy- 
man who read the burial service, and the under- 
taker and his assistants, there were no other imme- 
diate witnesses, though outside of the gates stood 
quite an assemblage of people, whose morbid curi- 
osity had prompted them to watch the burial of the 
murdered woman. 

In silence, the funeral party rode back to Beryl- 
wood, and late that afternoon, Ambrose was advised 
that Adolph wished to speakwith him overthe’phone. 

“ Come to the Raleigh House.” 

These words of his stoical clerk were spoken 
quickly and in a tone which promptly and fully 
interpreted by Ambrose, rendered discussion and 
questioning unwise, and his only reply was, — 

“ I will come at once.” 

“ Now, Ambrose, where are you going? ” said his 
wife, as she saw the saddled horse again waiting 
her husband. 

“ To the Raleigh House,” he replied, “ and I may 
stay there all night. But don’t be alarmed, if I 
should not return this evening ; there is no danger. 
I shall do no fighting,” and he smiled, as he leaped 
upon his horse and rode away. 

On arriving at the Raleigh House, Ambrose 
found Adolph and Bob awaiting him. 


224 


The Client 


“ I think we’re going to have some callers at the 
jail to-night,” said Bob, after the trio had found a 
secluded place in which to converse unnoticed by 
others. 

“ I expected this,” said Ambrose. 

“ The whole mess is going wrong,” said Bob, as 
he pulled from his pocket a morning local news- 
paper, and then in a tone of disgust, he added, 
‘‘Jest look at that advertisement” and Ambrose 
read the published announcement that a certain 
clergyman of Raleigh would preach upon the sub- 
ject of the murder and the question, “ Should the 
murderer be lynched ? ” 

“Now,” said Bob, “the devil got into a pulpit 
this morning, and he has raised hell. That young 
hair-brained scandal-monger, who put that ad in 
the paper to draw a crowd, has done an awful lot 
of mischief. I went there and heard the sermon. 
It wasn’t so much what he said, as what he did and 
what he meant, that has made the trouble. The 
mob only needed a preacher to tell them that lynch- 
ing was right. I listened around a little after meetin’, 
and from the way the deacons talked, I guess some 
of them went home to get their clothes-lines.” 

“I see,” said Ambrose, “the opposition of the 
sheriff won’t amount to much now.” 

Bob, then, at the request of Ambrose, went into 
detail as to all he had seen and heard. He related 
how one of the talkative ringleaders, Ash Corey, 
by name, had openly boasted that “ the half-breed 
would never see another sun rise.” 

“ Well,” said Ambrose, as he arose at the end of the 
consulation, and his firmly compressed lips and the 
hard lines of his face added to a quick cat-like motion 


Misguided Public Sentiment 225 

and attitude, showed the power and determination 
he felt. “ Let us go in and get supper. I have work 
to do to-night, and I shall work as I never worked 
before.” 

After they had finished their meal the trio seated 
themselves on the hotel porch where they could 
look down the street to the jail and the open square 
beyond. The night was still and oppressively warm. 
There was no moon, and though the stars were 
shining brightly, the darkness, owing to the dense 
shade of many trees, was intense. The sombre 
gloom was here and there broken by widely 
scattered arc lights, whose distant brilliancy only 
emphasized the darkness of other localities. The 
jail was an old-fashioned structure of stone, with a 
high stone wall around it, extending from either 
side of the front, and situated back from the street 
overlooking the square. At the side and the rear 
was a grove of large trees, and over the steps at the 
entrance an arc light was burning. In. front were 
several armed guards pacing to an fro, and who 
were relieved at regular hours during the day and 
night. In a small building adjoining the jail was 
the sheriff's office and home. 

The jail thus presented quite a formidable ap- 
pearance, and Ambrose was sure that if the sheriff 
desired to defend it successfully, he could do so with 
a very small force. 

For several hours our hero and his companions 
remained upon the porch peering through the dark- 
ness, noting every passing group of men and every 
unusual sound. Adolph and the detective con- 
versed in low tones, but Ambrose, silent and apart 
from them, nervously turned in his chair, and at 


226 


The Client 


intervals paced to and fro upon the porch. The 
congregations of churches returned to their homes. 
The streets were practically deserted ; vivid flashes 
of lightning were frequently seen, and occasional 
peals of thunder were heard, whose roar, increasing 
in volume, heralded the approach of a storm. 

“ Wait here for me,” said Ambrose ; “ I am going 
over to call on the sheriff.” 

As Ambrose passed the jail guards, they stood 
still, and at once recognizing him as the man on 
horseback of the previous day, they eyed him 
curiously. 

“ Good-evening, sheriff,” said Ambrose, as he 
noticed that official standing in the doorway of his 
office. 

The sheriff acknowledged the greeting of Ambrose 
with distinct coolness, and pulling out his watch 
noted the time. 

“ It is a few minutes past eleven, sheriff, ” said 
Ambrose. “ What time will your lynching party 
arrive ? ” 

“ I don’t know of any lynching party, judge,” 
said the sheriff, looking out at the approaching 
storm. 

“ Then,” said Ambrose in clear but aggressive 
tones, “ why do you look at your watch? Were 
you not wondering as you stood in the doorway 
whether they would come before the storm or 
afterward ? ” 

The sheriff made no reply, but gazed intently at 
his questioner. 

“ Well, then, sheriff, if you don’t know that a 
lynching party is coming here to-night, let me tell 
you that they are on the way, and will surely be 


Misguided Public Sentiment 227 

here. Now what do you intend to do when they 
arrive ? Let us understand each other, sheriff. I 
am here alone and unarmed and shall remain so. I 
have no intention to use force in upholding the law 
or in breaking it. Now suppose a mob appears 
here and demands the body of the half-breed, what 
will you do ? ” 

“ I shall certainly refuse to give it to them.” 

“ And then suppose they rush upon your 
guards ? ” 

“ My men will fire at them, using blank car- 
tridges. They will at first fire over their heads.” 

“ And then of course they will at once be over- 
powered by the mob, who will enter the jail and 
seize the prisoner.” 

“ Well, judge,” said the sheriff, “ I shall use what 
force I can in defending the jail, but I won’t shoot 
down a lot of the citizens of Raleigh. If there is 
any shooting to be done, the governor should send 
the militia. I have neither the men nor the inclina- 
tion to do so.” 

Ambrose now saw that the sheriff’s pretense of 
defending the jail would be the merest sham, so 
after a moment’s silence in which that official eyed 
him with furtive glances, he said, “ Sheriff, will you 
let me defend the prisoner alone, unarmed, with 
bare hands ? ” 

The sheriff laughed coarsely, as he said, — 

“ Why, yes, I suppose so. How will you go 
about it ? ” 

“ Go in your office and stay there ; order your 
guards inside the jail, out of sight ; leave the front 
doors of the jail wide open and allow me to stand 
on the steps alone.” 


228 


The Client 


“ And then ? ” said the sheriff inquiringly. 

“ And then,” said Ambrose, “ when the mob 
arrives, I will demand their attention and talk to 
them. If, when I have finished what I have to say, 
and they still insist upon the prisoner’s life, I will 
turn them over to you, and right here I promise 
you I will in no way condemn what you do.” 

The sheriff, silent and thoughtful, at length said, — 

“ I can’t understand why you condemn me now, 
judge. I don’t understand why you want to spare 
the life of a devil that murdered your sister. Why 
should you pose as a moralist ? Why should you 
berate and threaten me as you did over the ’phone 
yesterday? I don’t think I am any worse than you. 
I didn’t do any more harm in sinning with your 
sister than you did in sinning with my ex-wife. 
Birds of a feather should flock together, judge.” 

Ambrose winced at this cutting remark of the 
sheriff, but without attempting an answer in 
detail to the sheriff’s accusation he replied, — 

“ There are exceptions to all rules, sheriff, 
especially to the old saw you have just quoted. 
Some of those exceptions are, two conceited men, 
two pretty women, and two rascals like you and 
me.” 

“ Well,” said the sheriff, “ I’ll consent to what 
you want, but in the future don't turn me down.” 

It was now past midnight, and the Sabbath day 
was over. Ambrose and the sheriff, as they eagerly 
peered up and down the dark streets, saw torch- 
lights in several directions. At that moment, Bob 
and Adolph came running toward them. 

“ They are coming,” said Bob, “ coming from 
every direction to meet here.” 


Misguided Public Sentiment 229 

“ Call in your guards, sheriff ; open the jail doors, 
and you, Bob and Adolph, wait in the sheriff’s 
office,” said Ambrose, and as the sheriff hastily 
complied with this order, Bob and Adolph stood 
still, looking at the lawyer with consternation and 
dismay. 

“ Do as I tell you ; I cannot explain now. I will 
call if I need you,” and the clerk and detective in 
silent wonder obeyed the order. 

At several near-by points, in different localities, 
a profusion of torchlights remaining stationary 
were plainly seen, and then, as if obeying a pre- 
concerted signal, a horde of men rushed to the jail. 
On the steps of the jail, standing erect and motion- 
less, Ambrose awaited them. With bared head and 
folded arms, he stood beneath the arc light; his 
auburn hair gleaming in luxuriant profusion, as it 
fell over his brow. Cool and resolute, the white- 
ness of his face was the only visible indication of 
the deep emotion that filled his heart. 

At a distance of fully fifty feet from the steps of 
the jail the mob paused, evidently for the purpose 
of consultation. Some wore masks ; others had 
colored handkerchiefs tied over their faces below 
the eyes. Some carried guns; others clubs. 
One man carried a coil of stout rope with a noose 
at the end ; others had a heavy stick of timber, evi- 
dently intended for a battering-ram to break in 
the jail doors. As this motley crowd of law- 
breakers in number about three hundred, stood for 
a few minutes in excited discussion, as if undecided 
what to do, the smoking torchlights shedding a 
dim light upon their partly concealed features, Am- 
brose sadly felt as he surveyed them, that they 


230 


The Client 


represented a public sentiment so depraved that its 
frequent open expression and far-reaching influence 
made self-government by such people a question 
for wonder, and the perpetuity of our nation one 
of grave uncertainty. Ambrose had fully decided 
upon what he should say and do, and had accu- 
rately anticipated the effect of his action upon the 
mob. He felt that a plea for Christianity would be 
unheeded ; that an appeal to their manhood and 
honor would be ridiculed. This remarkable man, 
sensitive as he was to every emotion of the human 
heart, to every pulse beat of humanity ; a master of 
satire, invective, finesse, ridicule and subtle pleading, 
knowing the wondrous power of his magnetic per- 
sonality, which he had tested so many times before 
judge and jury, looked upon his prospective 
audience with a feeling of conscious power that 
was born of his sense of justice and his inflexible 
determination to win. He felt that he could com- 
mand their attention ; that he could force into 
their degraded minds a sense of shame, and that a 
drastic impeachment of their morality, as individuals, 
was the only proper method of dealing with a body 
of men, whose purpose was to commit a deliberate 
murder. 

The mob had not expected the reception that 
thus awaited them ; the absence of guards ; the 
open doors of the jail ; no signs of resistance any- 
where ; one lone, peaceful looking man standing on 
the steps with folded arms and bared head. What 
did it mean ? A trap ? They were suspicious, and 
could not understand. Had the prisoner been 
spirited away ? Where was the sheriff? Was the 
jail open for their inspection ? Was this re- 


Misguided Public Sentiment 231 

spectable-looking man in charge to show them 
around? 

Their embarrassment was ludicrous, and Am- 
brose, as he noted it, felt amused ; he smiled. As 
the mob noticed this action of the silent guardian 
of the county prison, some of them gave vent to 
roars of laughter, and they moved close to the jail 
steps ; some laughing, others with mutterings of 
anger. The threatening storm seemed to be spend- 
ing its force a short distance away and came no 
nearer, though the lightning and thunder seemed 
almost above them. At the front of the steps they 
again paused, and here Ambrose, stepping forward, 
raised his hand for silence, and in an attitude that 
seemed to command attention and respect, his fine 
tenor voice in which seemed thrown all the deep 
emotions of his heart and soul, rang out upon the 
still night air, as he said, — 

“ Citizens of Raleigh ! Coming here as you do 
to murder a prisoner, now confined in this jail, 
you find no one to oppose you but me, an un- 
armed man. The doors are open ; the prisoner 
you seek is there. I am responsible for this state 
of affairs, and as the guards were removed and 
these doors thrown open at my request, I demand 
in return that you recognize me, at least to the ex- 
tent of listening to what I have to say. 

“ I, the brother of the prisoner’s victim, am a 
lawyer in regular practice, and I promise you that 
the prisoner shall not escape. It is my right far 
more than yours to say how and when he shall be 
punished. But you, murderers at heart as you are, 
have no right to be here. Such men as you are 
unworthy to stand even the shadow of a court of 


232 


The Client 


law, and you know and feel this more than I do. 
I should indeed pity the man, good or bad, who in 
a court of law, asks for justice with you for his 
jurymen. Why are your faces masked ? Tell me 
your names ? Why do you come here at midnight 
instead of noon ? I’ll tell you why. It is because 
honest men are in bed, and because the darkness of 
night will veil the shame you feel when, as traitors 
to decency, you would break the laws of your 
country, and the law of that God above, who hath 
said 4 Thou shalt not kill.’ 

“ You claim that the prisoner will perhaps escape 
punishment; that through some technicality of the 
law he will be freed; that our judges will be false 
to their duty. But you know full well that the 
meaning of the law’s delay is that God’s justice shall 
prevail, and that a criminal, such as the prisoner, 
whose life you demand, shall feel in his conscience 
the torments of hell, as he realizes his crime ; that 
he shall suffer over and over again in imagination 
the horrors of a terrible death, which he knows 
awaits him. Why should you assume that your 
miserable conception of justice is superior to that 
of the judges, whom you have placed in power to 
punish offenders such as these ? Why should you 
be guilty of such folly as to assume that a crime 
such as this man has committed will go unpunished? 
Let us admit that judges make errors at times. 
They are not infallible. But when as a price of 
their continuance in office, they must bow to public 
sentiment such as this, what can you expect from 
the law? What justice have you the right to ex- 
pect at their hands ? 

“ This morning in yonder church, a clergyman, 


Misguided Public Sentiment 233 

who had deliberately advertised his intended action 
for the purpose of personal notoriety and filthy gain, 
chose for the subject of his discourse the horrible 
murder of my sister, and thus as a scandal-monger 
of most degraded type, virtually made her outraged 
corpse a stepping-stone to his fame. He inspired 
you to this violence by indirect approval of lynch 
law, by his insiduous, subtle teaching, by inflaming 
your honest indignation. Is he with you to-night ? 
or is he, — the most despicable hypocrite I can imag- 
ine, a clergyman, false in his pulpit, slinking at 
home and cowardly gloating as he anticipates at a 
safe distance the murder he has inspired ? And I 
am informed that his congregation, intelligent men 
and women, voiced their approval of what he said. 
Surely, since the day of the Crucifixion, when the 
Saviour of mankind was murdered on the cross, the 
devil has never before smiled so broadly as when at 
this dawn of the twentieth century, this morning in 
the town of Raleigh, he thus witnessed the utter 
prostitution of a modern church of God to his serv- 
ice. For when the church teaches that lynch law is 
right, it teaches that the courts of heaven and earth 
are wrong. Your presence here to-night proves the 
fact that the white man’s loyalty to himself obscures 
his sense of justice, and it also proves your incon- 
sistency. Why should you stain your hands with 
the blood of a human monster, whom God gave life 
that He might visit His wrath upon you for your 
crimes against His race? For in your unbridled 
lust lies the cause of the evil that with misguided 
zeal you are here to remedy, and in your honest 
duty to woman and God lies the only cure. 

“ There are two and one half million half-breed 


234 


The Client 


negroes like the prisoner in yonder cell in this 
country to-day. Their color proves their parentage 
and fixes with absolute certainty the responsibility 
for their illegal existence upon Americans such as 
you. They are living evidences of the white man’s 
vice. In their conception and birth, they are a mix- 
ture of the worst dregs of African and Caucasian 
blood, and save by the grace of God, they are ever 
a curse to humanity. God made Africa for the 
negro, and he should have stayed there. He did 
not come here of his own volition, and the civil war, 
with its deluge of blood and tears, was in part the 
atonement we made for the crimes of our forefathers 
and their children against his race. Slavery is dead, 
but its curses will endure for many generations yet 
to come. We excluded the leprous Chinese and 
restricted undesirable immigration, but we kept our 
own worse moral leprosy at home. 

“ The American negro of to-day is what the 
American white man has made him. Our treat- 
ment of him, at the best, can never be to us a source 
of pride, and we can remember the past only with 
shame. If we lynch a half-white negro for his 
crimes against our women, what punishment should 
we inflict upon you Americans, who are responsible 
for two and a half millions of his kind? And 
should we say it is other than Divine retribution 
when, for the white man’s thousand crimes against 
the women of his race, he retaliates upon ours with 
one ? Yet shame, oh, shame, upon your American 
manhood, you take him from the hands of the law 
to burn him at the stake. 

“ God sends the lightning that destroys along with 
the rain that blesses, and this law of nature espe- 


Misguided Public Sentiment 235 

daily applies in the creation of all forms of life. 
The offspring of pure minds in honest wedlock is 
the rain that blesses. But when the Almighty 
gives life to a half-breed fiend such as this, the off- 
spring of the worst passions of a degraded white and 
a degraded black, it is the lightning of His wrath to 
destroy, and, if the electric fire of heaven that now 
flashes before your eyes sometimes destroys a 
church of God, so directly or indirectly does a curse 
like this come home to roost. 

“ You say this man is an irresponsible beast, and 
suppose for a moment I admit the truth of what you 
say, you are now proclaiming yourselves to be 
equally irresponsible, and if you kill a vicious beast 
in the field, even in the presence of other beasts, 
does your action influence the other beasts to better 
behavior ? If you lynch this negro to-night, you 
will in a few days read of an increased number of 
crimes similar to that which he has committed ; you 
will but stimulate crime ; you will be but murderers 
yourselves, and thus sink to a lower moral level than 
he, for with your supposed higher intelligence, your 
responsibility to the law is greater than this. You 
say you will teach the blacks a lesson, but how 
much instruction do you yourselves need? If as 
fathers, you would condone the faults of your well- 
taught and acknowledged children, how much 
greater need for mercy should you feel now? And 
should I say that yonder fiend killed my sister, or 
should I charge her murder to you ? — But, go 
through the open doors of this jail and take your 
prisoner. Chain him to the stake; build your bon- 
fire around him. Wave your torches. Dance 
about him, and howl in your fiendish glee. Listen 


The Client 


236 

to his shrieks of death agony that mingle with your 
hoarse bestial yells of triumph, as you thus break 
the laws of God and man, and as the flames leaping 
heavenward consume your prey and illumine a 
scene that would sicken civilization, and exceed in 
its horrors the worst visions of Dante’s Inferno; 
the worst Orgies of wild African savages ; — you 
should pause, you, best citizens of Raleigh ! You, 
enlightened Americans ! Pause, I say, and then 
you, and you, and you, and you, inquire among 
yourselves as to the parentage of your victim. 

“ But no ! citizens of Raleigh ! no ! For thus do 
the extremes of good and evil meet. Let us rather 
try to reach that high plane of Christian intelligence, 
where we can read God’s laws through nature’s laws, 
and feel, even in the face of crimes as terrible as this, 
that God is just. I, who as the victim’s brother 
must, as a result of this awful crimes suffer the 
keenest sorrow, ask you not to murder this prisoner. 
Do not stain your hands with the blood of this irre- 
sponsible offspring of lust, and thus send a soul to 
the terrible judgment of a court that later on will 
demand an answer from you.” 

And then though the storm had spent itself near 
by without breaking upon them, a few drops of rain 
began to fall. As he went down the steps to where 
the mob was standing in silence and shame, the 
man who held the coil of rope threw it to the 
ground, and then Ambrose in a voice, so sad, so 
intensely mournful that it swept away the last 
vestige of the mob’s murderous rage, said, — 

“ Go home ! Go home ! Go home ! Leave 
him to me. Leave him to God,” and as he uttered 
these words, a bright flash was seen and the roar of 


Misguided Public Sentiment 237 

a prolonged crashing peal of thunder reverberated 
through the heavens, as if in solemn warning and 
approval of what he had said. Ambrose stood 
with bowed head and in silence, as the mob, all 
seeming to talk at once, conversed in low tones 
among themselves, and walked slowly away. As 
they disappeared from view, Ambrose laughed 
aloud, and his laugh seemed one in which satire and 
triumph were weirdly mingled, as he realized the 
effect of his words upon the mob. 

“ At last,” said he, “ and for once in my life at 
least, I am sure that my interpretation of justice is 
endorsed by public opinion.” 

Then picking up the coil of rope which the mob 
had left behind, and holding the coil in one hand, 
and the noose in the other, he shook the noose at 
the window of the cell in which the half-breed was 
confined, and shouted, 

“ Now, devil! Die in the hell your guilty 
conscience makes, a thousand deaths, while I, 
Ruth’s avenger, through the law, choke out your 
miserable life with this.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


MR. GRILL LOSES HIS TEMPER AND AMBROSE 
VERY NEARLY LOSES HIS WIFE 

Mr. Grill was angry, very angry ; he was in 
fact as “ mad ” as the proverbial “ wet hen/' and Mr. 
Grill, as manager of the Portland, was known to be 
a man so long-suffering, so patient and courteous at 
all times, that when we feel as a matter of duty 
compelled to chronicle the fact that he had 
completely lost his temper, we also feel that some 
explanation of the cause is both timely and 
advisable. Mr. Grill’s rage was all the more em- 
phatic and explosive, for the reason that he had 
nursed it for a week or more without feeling at 
liberty to “ break loose ” on the objects of his 
wrath, or even to pacify his outraged feelings by 
“ telling his troubles to the police,” or any other 
individuals who would be likely to sympathize with 
him. 

Mrs. Weedahl had not been at the Portland since 
before the fete, and as Mr. Grill had made many 
notes of matters in regard to which he desired to 
consult her, he had impatiently awaited her return. 
But at the time of which we speak, she was at the 
Portland for a day or so, in order to attend to some 
pressing matters of business, and in her private 
office after an early breakfast she was prepared to 
hear what Mr. Grill had to say. 

Mr. Grill, as he began the recital of his troubles, 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 239 

by his manner gave evidence of a desire to be con- 
siderate and fair, to be a gentleman even if he was 
angry. His face was so red that it indicated 
apoplexy, and his long neck alternately protruding 
from and receding into his high collar, suggested a 
snapping turtle, who would do some damage if he 
got a good chance, but who realized that the 
desired opportunity would not materialize. 

“ Mrs. Weedahl,” he said, “ I have been employed 
by you as manager of the Portland for very nearly 
two years. Now during that time, Mrs. Weedahl, I 
have tried with reasonable fidelity to perform the 
various duties that were required of me. I recog- 
nized, Mrs. Weedahl, that your interests were my 
interests, and have in my work here taken the 
same interest in your property that I would have 
taken had it been my own. I have borne with, I 
think, creditable patience, the insults and abuse to 
which I have been subjected many times by our 
guests — Mrs. Weedahl, — I have endured their un- 
reasonable faultfinding and unjust criticism without 
retaliating, at any time, by offensive language or 
improper service. I take pride in the fact that I am 
patient and discreet ; that I am tactful and con- 
siderate. But, Mrs. Weedahl, at the end of the year 
I must inventory the stock ; I must prepare balance 
sheets in which I show you the results of my work 
in dollars and cents. It is my privilege to regulate 
many things that are wrong, but there are some 
troubles, which for good and sufficient reasons, are 
beyond my power to remedy. There are times 
when I must come to you, though now on the score 
of modesty, I regret that it is necessary to do so. 
A hotel manager’s patience, Mrs. Weedahl, ranks 


240 


The Client 


next to that of Job, but there is a limit to it, — a last 
straw, pardon me, but here it is,” and Mr. Grill held 
up for inspection a piece of broad white tape, from 
which suspended sixteen of the dining-room napkins, 
one corner of each napkin being sewed to the tape. 
— “ They are all stamped with the Portland stamp,” 
said Mr. Grill, and then he waited in silence while 
his mistress inspected the trophy he held up to her 
gaze. 

Mrs. Weedahl, as a shrewd business woman, was 
usually imperative in manner and speech when talk- 
ing to her manager, but when she saw that he was 
justly angry, she was careful not to lose her own 
temper, and so now she simply smiled, as she looked 
wonderingly at the exhibit of Mr. Grill. 

“ But what does this mean, Mr. Grill ? Where 
did you find those napkins, and why are they sewed 
on that tape ? ” she said. 

“ They were found in a wardrobe in the apart- 
ments of Mrs. M’Garrite,” said Mr. Grill. “ Mrs. 
M’Garrite doubtless forgot that she had left them 
where the maid would be likely to find them. You 
see, Mrs. M’Garrite is very thin, and the weather 
being warm ” 

Mr. Grill was here interrupted by a loud laugh on 
the part of Mrs. Weedahl, and he paused, as he 
noted this evidence of mirth and a deeper color on 
the face of his mistress. 

He continued — “ As manager of the Portland, 
Mrs. Weedahl, when I make up my inventory at 
the end of the year I humbly ask of you, am I sup- 
posed to go around and locate all of the missing 
linen ? ” 

“ No, Mr. Grill,” said the Jewess, “ your curiosity, 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 241 

like your patience, must have a limit. Mrs. 
M’Garrite is under contract for a year, is she 
not ? ” 

“ Yes, madam.” 

“ Very well, make a package of those napkins 
and send them to Mrs. M’Garrite with a card as 
follows, — ‘ Compliments of Mrs. Weedahl and the 
Portland employees,’ ” she said ; “ and now, what 
have you there rolled up in that newspaper?” 

“ They are Portland towels,” said Mr. Grill ; 
“ seven, I believe. They have been used for house- 
cleaning, etc., and are so black and soiled that they 
are ruined. They were rolled up in the newspaper 
and thrown from the window into our neighbor’s 
yard. The guest who did this was evidently 
ashamed to return the towels to us, but she was 
hardly careful enough in concealing her identity. 
The paper in which the towels are wrapped is a copy of 
the Christian Herald , and bears the printed address 
of Mrs. Brown-Jones. I assure you, Mrs. Weed- 
ahl, that Christianity has never before been used 
as a cloak for anything so black. Shall I charge 
the towels to her ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” said the Jewess. “ Just make a pack- 
age of them, using the newspaper as a wrapper, 
only let the printed address of Mrs. Brown-Jones 
appear outside, and write beneath it, 4 Compliments 
of Mrs. Weedahl and employees.’ I am quite 
willing that Mrs. Brown-Jones and Mrs. M'Garrite 
should know that their true measure has been taken 
by the management here, even though it does cost 
me sixteen napkins and seven towels. What else, 
Mr. Grill?” 

“ The new steward is greatly disliked by the help, 


242 The Client 

because he won’t give them the dining-room bill of 
fare.” 

“ Be sure to keep him.” 

“ The new office girl is very popular with many 
of the guests, but she is silly and vain. She be- 
moans the fate that deprived her of a grand ances- 
tral home somewhere, and which dragged her down 
to the hotel office, but to my certain knowledge she 
did housework before coming here, and the ances- 
tral home is purely imaginary. The Portland isn’t 
quite good enough for her, and when the guests 
complain, she tells them things would be different 
if she could have her way.” 

“ Discharge her at once. Disloyalty is only 
another name for treachery. We often meet with 
people who remind us of the apples when they took 
their first and only swim. What else, Mr. Grill ? ” 

“ I recently loaned to Mr. Jordan six champagne 
glasses, as he had a little party in his rooms. The 
next day my attention was called to the broken 
bottles and glasses in our neighbor’s yard, where he 
had thrown them from the window. I sent up and 
asked him to return the glasses, and he reported 
that he had sent them down-stairs the night 
before.” 

“ Did you sell him the wine ? ” 

“ No, but I iced up the three quarts of champagne 
for him.” 

“ Charge him fifty cents corkage on each bottle ; 
that will more than pay for the glasses and the ice 
too. By the way, how did Mr. Jordan like the 
bottle of Zinfandel wine I sent him with a Cruse 
and Fils label on it ? ” 

“ Why, he thought it was very fine, but he said 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 243 

he never did like a Bordeaux Claret, and would 
rather have a good California Zinfandel.” 

“ And California Zinfandel was what you gave 
him?” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ Well, when we hear of such things we can ap- 
preciate how confidence sharps feel when they read 
in the newspaper about a wealthy farmer who came 
to town and blew out the gas on going to bed. 
Anything more, Mr. Grill?” 

“ Why, yes, we have some new guests, Mr. and 
Mrs. Bleeker. They have been here nearly a 
month. Mrs. Bleeker rented the rooms. I worked 
three hours with her, showing her around. She 
got three glasses of wine and five glasses of ice 
water. I finally succeeded in pleasing her, but I 
caught a pair of tartars. Mr. Bleeker came down to 
the office last evening and casually asked me how 
much I paid for ice. I told him it cost me four 
dollars per ton. He then figured out the rate per 
pound, and said he had a small refrigerator in his 
rooms, and would like five pounds of ice each day. 
He said he supposed I would let him have the ice 
at cost, or five pounds per day for one cent. I told 
him I would be very glad to do so, only that the 
bell-boy’s shoes needed half soling, and that he in- 
sisted on having more or less bread and meat every 
day. Mr. and Mrs. Bleeker also eat all they can in 
the dining-room, three times a day, and then what 
cake and fruit they can’t eat they carry to their 
rooms.” 

The red eyes of the Jewess gleamed with a 
strange light, as her manager detailed this state- 
ment. 


244 


The Client 


“ Be careful not to introduce Mr. Bleeker to Mr. 
Jordan/' said she, “ or Jordan will go broke in short 
order, and won’t be able to pay his bills. What a 
pity I didn’t discover Bleeker when he was poor. 
What a mint he would have been for me, if I had 
financed him in the cold storage business. Watch 
Mr. Bleeker very carefully, and see that he don't 
run his refrigerator with the ice water you send 
him.” 

“ Mrs. Jordan has made a great deal of trouble 
for me, by causing me to lose several good cham- 
bermaids. They refuse to go to her rooms, and 
leave. This morning, the maid who attended to her 
rooms, was called back to remove a lot of pictures 
and bric-a-brac from her mantel, and do her work 
over again. The maid is one of the best we ever 
had, and gives entire satisfaction to other guests. 
Mrs. Jordan, with a smile, told me at the office that 
the maid had done her work all right, but that she 
had showed some little resentment, and so, * she had 
called her back to worry her.' The maid gave me 
notice that she desires to leave, so I told Mrs. Jor- 
dan that the maids in the future would work in her 
rooms subject to my instructions only ; otherwise 
they could not work there at all.” 

“ Is Mrs. Jordan the woman who had so many 
servants before she came here?” 

“ Yes, she told several ladies that she had fourteen 
different maids in six weeks prior to coming here.” 

“ And now she is trying to drive out our maids. 
Well, Mr. Grill, ‘ the servant question ’ is misnamed. 
It should be called the ‘ mistress question.' It is 
ever and ever the same old story. You, as a hotel 
man, know that when girls are willing to work, it 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 245 

is evident that they have some degree of self- 
respect, and that self-respect should be encouraged, 
not humiliated. You also know that if they fail to 
perform their duties, the faults are more certainly 
remedied through this self-respect than in any other 
way. A senseless woman like Mrs. Jordan does 
not realize this, and no amount of argument or 
explanation would teach her. The servant girl of 
to-day is the same as the servant girl of one hun- 
dred years ago, but the society woman of to-day is 
a very different creation. She is the product of 
false teaching ; an educated simpleton. She has a 
smattering knowledge of household duties, acquired 
perhaps by a ten days' martyrdom in some cooking 
school, where she learns a little about work, but 
secretly resolves never to do it. She has a false, 
silly idea of her own importance, as she has been 
educated to catch a husband, by appealing to vanity 
instead of sense, and the husband and working girl 
both must suffer in consequence. The husband 
must pay for his folly with cash and disgust, and 
the working girl is driven to the street, the factory 
or sweat shop by this chicken brained product of 
modern civilization. What is wrong with our mod- 
ern Christian teaching, when it elevates and pro- 
tects a useless woman, and persistently degrades the 
one who, as a servant, would earn an honest living ? 
Girls who are protected by the management, will 
work hard in hotels or factories for less wages and 
poorer fare, when they won’t work in private houses. 
Why ? Housework is considered degrading, chiefly 
for the reason that a lazy, silly woman is placed on 
a pedestal to be worshiped, while the social power 
that thus elevates a fool, makes a slave of struggling 


The Client 


246 

virtue and sense. This condition of servitude whose 
wrongs crying aloud for justice are thus emphasized 
and made more intolerable, is perhaps as bad as the 
negro’s bondage before the war, and in this enlight- 
ened age it is shameful indeed to realize as a result 
of such teaching the almost unanimous existence of 
a sentiment among would-be honest girls, in effect 
that the degradation of the street is preferable to the 
degradation of the kitchen. A sensible, industrious 
maid very quickly measures a lazy and foolish mis- 
tress. The hod-carrier will sing merrily at his hard 
daily labor, if the boss occasionally piles up a few 
bricks ; but if the boss loafs around in an auto- 
mobile, smoking expensive cigars, the hod-carrier 
stops singing and goes on a strike. When you are 
forced to take action in these matters, Mr. Grill, 
always deal with the men, if possible. A man’s 
senses and feelings, as a rule, are far more intense 
than those of a woman, and he is usually sensible 
and reasonable. A worker himself, he is fair and 
just to a working girl, while his idle wife perhaps 
excuses her worthlessness by false and bitter denun- 
ciation of the defenseless maid, and, also remember 
this, Mr. Grill, that even though you have many 
worthy people as guests of the Portland, apartment 
hotels are often, in a double sense, Retreats for the 
Helpless, and the only solution of the mistress 
question.” 

Mr. Grill sat in thoughtful silence as Mrs. Weedahl 
expressed her indignation in this unvarnished opin- 
ion. He felt that she spoke the truth ; that with 
her keen perception and mature wisdom ; her long 
experience; her close contact with all the varied 
phases of this great question for so many years, she 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 247 

was a competent judge of its rights and its wrongs, 
and that he, himself, from his experience, was a 
competent witness to prove the impartial truth of 
her words. For twenty years as a hotel man, he 
had lived in daily contact with servant and guest, a 
medium through which the privileges of the one and 
the duties of the other were regulated. He had of 
course occasionally employed worthless servants, 
and promptly dismissed them. He had noticed 
how a good servant pleased many sensible people, 
and was driven to despair by the exacting require- 
ments or the senseless nagging of others. He could 
appreciate the defenseless condition of the maid in 
a private home, with the husband absent and the 
wife in control. He could realize the contempt 
that familiarity bred, or the disgust that exacting 
and ignorant attempts at discipline inspired. He 
knew that the ideal servant was always found work- 
ing for the ideal mistress, and that a lazy, senseless 
woman, dishonestly hoping to be free from all irk- 
some responsibilities in order to devote her time to 
congenial amusements, generally got the imperfect 
service she merited. The mistress and the servant 
in the home or in the hotel, were individually the 
same. Their conditions of existence and responsi- 
bility alone were changed. He could understand 
how in the impregnable position of his society mis- 
tress, the servant girl was a yellow dog without 
friends, and so Mr. Grill, in a sense of honor and 
justice, felt an absolute conviction that labor troubles, 
as applied to the servant girl, were chiefly the fault 
of the mistress, and not of the maid. 

As Mr. Grill thus arrived at a conclusion upon 
this matter of serious import, and left the office of 


The Client 


248 

his mistress, he saw Ambrose coming in from the 
front with traveling bag in hand and stop at the 
door of the elevator. With a pleasant “ good-morn- 
ing, judge,” the manager hastened toward him, and 
grasped his hand, while Ambrose returned his greet- 
ing with a kindly smile. 

“ We have missed you for several days, judge,” 
said Mr. Grill. “ Have you been out of town ? ” 

“ Why, yes, I have been out of town, but not for 
several days. I went to Raleigh early yesterday 
morning and expected to get home last evening, 
but was detained until late, so remained there over 
night, and have just returned.” 

“ The negro, I suppose, is still in jail?” 

“ Yes, he will stay there safely now, I think, until 
September, when he will be tried. I assisted the 
prosecuting attorney of Prescott County at the hear- 
ing yesterday, and the negro was committed with- 
out bail, to await the action of the grand jury. Last 
evening I went over the case with the prosecuting 
attorney, and will assist him at the trial, as there is 
no doubt but that the negro will be indicted.” 

“ I read your speech in the newspaper, judge, and 
a full account of the affair. I understand negroes 
pretty well. I have employed them in hotel work 
for many years. The full-blooded, black negro is 
usually very good or good for nothing, but the half 
white creation is always dangerous. Your success 
in preventing a lynching was remarkable. You 
played a bold game and won,* but the truth you 
told was sad indeed.” 

A shadow of displeasure appeared on the face of 
the lawyer, and the gesture he made was one of po- 
lite dissent. 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 249 

“ I don’t know,” said Ambrose, thoughtfully, 
“ that I am at all pleased with the publicity that has 
been given the matter, though of course my action 
and the publicity that followed were practically un- 
avoidable. I greatly regretted the necessity for my 
words, but more than all else, did I deplore the mis J 
guided sentiment that inspired the mob, and the 
condition of public morality that gave a convict- 
ing influence and force to the harsh words I uttered. 
I am pleased to note that the Press in giving the 
matter publicity, has refrained from editorial com- 
ment. The truth harshly told should ever inspire 
thoughtful silence and stimulate a quiet heartfelt de- 
sire for moral betterment. If this should be the only 
result of the shame inspired in the mob, and which 
sent them to their homes, I shall feel that my effort 
was not in vain. But if it provokes a sensational 
public discussion and unseemly controversy, I shall 
feel that my labor has been lost ” 

Ambrose here quietly excused himself, and smil- 
ing pleasantly at Mr. Grill, took the elevator to go 
to his room, and shortly after this he went down to 
his office. 

After the death of his sister and the startling 
events that had followed close upon her tragic end, 
our hero, naturally silent, thoughtful, and frequently 
the victim of a melancholy that rendered him in- 
capable of rational effort, sought vainly for peace of 
mind and consoling diversion. The conflicting 
emotions of love and duty at war in his breast, were 
ever a fountain of inspiration for some device that 
would dull the pangs of conscience and at the same 
time, with relentless precision, they pointed out to 
him the higher obligations of his manhood, and so, 


250 


The Client 


during these balmy days of June, when all nature 
was teeming with joyous life, he would sit in his 
office moody and morose ; for at this season, but 
little business occupied his time. He would go to 
his home at night suffering in silent misery. If 
Annettecalled at his office, her bright smile would, for 
a time, dispel the clouds of gloom that held him in 
thrall, but he thus became petulant and irritable, and 
existence was but another name for misery. The 
sable goddess of Lethe had fixed her ebon throne 
in his heart, and with stygian power and vampire 
seductiveness, now wielded her leaden sceptre to 
silence the repeated calls by which duty sought to 
awaken his slumbering conscience. Then feeling 
that earthly happiness meant only the gratification 
of the senses, like a poor inebriate, he plunged to 
deeper woe by yielding to the tempter. But it was 
now near the end of June, and on the afternoon of 
a warm, oppressive day that, though he was all un- 
conscious, was destined to be a long day to be re- 
membered, — Ambrose had returned from his lunch- 
eon, and seated at his office desk, idly looked 
over the newspaper he held in his hand. Adolph 
had just finished some manuscript upon which he 
had been engaged. He arose from his desk and 
putting on his hat, said casually, “ I am going over 
to Robbin & Groves to return this testimony in the 
case of MacFarland versus Bromley. I have made a 
copy of it.” 

“ Very well,” said Ambrose, as he looked up 
from his paper. Then as soon as Adolph was gone, 
he crushed the paper in one hand and leaning for- 
ward, idly drummed upon his desk with the other. 
He sat thus for several minutes, in what seemed to 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 251 

be an attitude of indecision. As he stopped drum- 
ming the desk with his fingers, the silence was 
broken only by the businesslike ticking of his 
office clock. The noise it made annoyed him, and 
to his disturbed senses it grew louder and louder, 
until he felt that the ticking must possess some 
meaning, which by its intensity it sought to convey to 
him. So with morbid impatience he exclaimed, “ Oh, 
yes, I understand. You mean that you are tick- 
ing away the hours that will never return. You are 
exulting over the foolish error I made by which I 
tied myself and irrevocably pledged my honor to 
endure a life of misery. You are laughing in rid- 
icule as you witness the struggle between duty and 
inclination. You proclaim with the voice of fate 
that I can obtain the happiness I seek only by the 
sacrifice of all honor, virtue and respectability ; that 
I can become an animal, but must cease to be a 
man. You mean that this condition of my life 
must remain as it is to the bitter end. You mean 
that after time comes eternity, and then you say, 
‘What-what? What-what? What-what?’ You 
mean that I should be happy while I may ; that life 
is what we choose to make it ; that happiness or 
sorrow is a question only of our own volition ; that 
earthly joy stops at the threshold of him who opens 
his door as it passes. You mean,” and here with a 
deep drawn sigh and a vacillating expression of 
weakness on his face, like that of the poor inebriate 
who has firmly resolved to reform, and who yields 
to the first appeal to his senses, made by the 
tempter, he walked to the telephone, and taking 
down the receiver, said, “ Give me the Richelieu, 
please.” 


252 


The Client 


At a later hour that afternoon in the sitting-room 
of Annette’s apartments, as with languid ease, 
he peacefully rested in a reclining chair, occasion- 
ally sipping a glass of iced claret, he for the time 
forgot all else in the wide world beyond, and re- 
alized only in the charming smile of his mistress 
and the soft tones of her voice, a paradise, whose 
confines were bounded by the four walls of the room. 

Annette, seated at the piano and sounding a few 
cords in subdued harmony with her sweet contralto 
voice, softly sang an Aria from Carmen. Then 
seemingly in a mood which had inspired the Aria, 
she played a dreamy Nocturne by Schubert. This 
was followed by the “ Sonate Pathetique ” by 
Beethoven. Then, as her mood changed with the 
caprice of musical genius, her fingers flew over the 
keys in a weird Rhapsody by Liszt, followed by a 
fantasia in C minor by the same master, and then a 
sensuous Adagio by Chopin. As she concluded 
these difficult, but charming selections from the old 
masters, her fingers sounded a few cords as if in pet- 
ulant indecision, and Ambrose in a soft tenor voice 
suggested the theme for an impromptu by humming 
a few bars of a favorite Sonata by Schubert. 

Annette improvised from his theme with spirit 
and brilliancy, her passion for classic music suggest- 
ing melodies at once indicative of the true artist. 
Her lover’s voice in suggesting the theme had 
awakened in her every emotion needful to an in- 
spiring improvisation. She felt his appreciation, 
for Ambrose listened with quiet delight — charmed, 
fascinated, as her soul in every note of the music she 
rendered seemed sweetly in accord and responsive 
to his own. At last, in his dreamy reverie, he noted 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 253 

in the soft tinkling cords the end of the impromptu, 
and the song birds in the trees just beyond seemed 
to take up the refrain, as Annette arose from the 
piano and sat beside her lover. 

“ There,” said she, “ I have played ail of your 
favorite classics and it’s eighty in the shade — now 
tell me something pleasant.” 

Ambrose answered only with a smile, as he toyed 
with her white pliant fingers, finally raising them 
to his lips, as a silent expression of his heartfelt 
appreciation. 

He seemed rather strangely quiet and reserved, 
but Annette attributed this to the oppressive heat 
of the day, and at length she herself feeling 
the drowsy influence of the temperature and her 
lover’s quiet demeanor, ceased her efforts to con- 
verse with him, and idly turned the leaves of a book 
as she looked at him pensively, or responded to the 
intensity of his gaze with faint but loving smiles. 
Then with a drowsy sigh of content and peace, she 
sleepily rested amid the cushions of a divan, while 
the silken robe she wore partly revealed the grace- 
ful outlines of her perfectly modeled form. 

Presently she threw aside the book, and leaning 
forward, placed her white hand upon the arm of her 
lover, as she looked at him with an expression of 
anxiety and alarm. 

“ Why do you look at me so strangely, so in- 
tensely, Ambrose, dear? You almost frighten me. 
Tell me, has anything, — has any one ? ” 

Ambrose stopped her query by a pleasant reas- 
suring smile, as his hand rested on her head and the 
soft tresses of her disarranged silken hair fell on his 
face. 


254 


The Client 


“ Why no, it is nothing, — nothing at all,” said he. 
“ I was just wondering if our Elysium beyond the 
Styx would be like this, or whether we should make 
the most of the one we have here at the Richelieu. 
You know Longfellow says, ‘This life of mortal 
breath is but a suburb of the life Elysian/ ” 

“ Yes,” said Annette thoughtfully, “ but you know 
Whittier says, — 


“ * Alas for him who never sees 

The stars shine thro’ his cypress trees. 

Who hopeless lays his dead away, 

Nor looks to see the breaking day 
Across the mournful marbles play. 

Who hath not learned in hours of faith, 

That truth to sense and flesh is known, 

That life is ever Lord of death, 

And love can never lose its own.’ ” 

“ Well,” said Ambrose, “ my imagination is al- 
ways at work. In fact, I sometimes feel that with 
me it is a disease. You know the doctors are often 
called upon to treat diseases which are nothing more 
or less than ungratified desires.” 

“ Listen to me, Ambrose, dear. I had such a ter- 
rible dream about you last night,” said Annette, as 
a look almost of terror appeared in her eyes. “ We 
were together in some lonely woods ; a dense for- 
est, and you in some way were lost to me, I seemed 
to hear the sound of rushing waters in a deep ravine 
below. I called to you, and in the far distance you 
answered me. I could hear your voice but faintly ; 
then I called again and again, but I could not hear 
you ; then I saw a mist arising, which as it came 
before my eyes seemed to blind me, and I screamed 
out and awoke. Oh ! it was so terrible ! I lay 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 255 

awake trembling with fear for an hour or more. 
You don’t believe in dreams, do you, Ambrose? 
What are dreams ? Tell me.” 

“ Dreams,” said Ambrose, “ are the emotions of 
sleep ; just the same as rage, grief and joy are the 
emotions of our waking hours. They are the antici- 
pations of slumber, and as we may expect possible 
results from what we do while awake, as we look 
with open eyes for natural consequences of actual 
conduct, so in sleep do we feel the anticipated pleas- 
ure or pain. It is simply the imagination working 
overtime. Our dreams in slumber have no more 
meaning than our dreams of waking hours, and 
there is no greater degree of certainty that they 
will be fulfilled.” 

“ I am so glad then that it was only a foolish 
dream,” said Annette with a sigh. “ For even a 
dream that I am parted from you is too horrible to 
think of.” 

The only answer Ambrose made to this assertion 
was a caress, for in his gloomy forebodings the pre- 
sentiment that their ideal happiness was destined 
for a tragic ending was ever in his mind, but he 
sought to further reassure her as she pleadingly, al- 
most tearfully gazed at him, and silently awaited his 
reply. 

“ Why, my dear,” said he smilingly, “ you know 
there is not even the faintest prospect that we shall 
be parted. We are doing the best we can ; of 
course my position is different from yours, and 
comment is almost needless. They say the highest 
compliment a man can pay a woman is to ask her 
to be his wife, but alas ! this is not a compliment I 
can pay to you. But I can pay you one which in 


The Client 


256 

my present state of mind is far greater, that above 
all women in this world you are supremely agreea- 
ble to my every sense. You are the most perfect 
of your sex.” 

“ And you will never tire of me? ” 

41 Never,” said Ambrose, and he meant what he 
said. 

“ Why ? ” said Annette. 

“ Well, surely,” said Ambrose laughingly, “ you 
are determined that I shall make an open analysis 
of my love for you,” and then in a serious tone, he 
continued, “ I can only say, that from the hour I 
first met you I loved you, and I have never since 
that time felt the slightest jar from anything you 
have said or done. The affinity between us seems 
complete. We are congenial in thought and desire. 
No man can tire of a woman who arouses in him 
his every sense of sex ; who awakens to life every 
phase of his manhood. Do not misunderstand me,” 
he continued, as he noted a fleeting shadow on An- 
nette’s face. “ There is no intentional suggestion 
of sensuality in what I say. I refer only to the 
higher emotions. Under normal conditions, you 
would be to me an inspiration to the highest, noblest 
manhood ; as a wife, you would not drag me down ; 
you would uplift and encourage me. In you are 
embodied all the attributes of perfect womanhood, 
and you love me as only a perfect woman can love. 
My love for you is the only love I have ever known, 
save for my mother and sister, and while it is per- 
haps even more intense than yours, it is a passion 
daily nursed in a cradle of grief and hopeless de- 
spair. You have said that you would not consent 
that I should wreck the happiness of another by 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 257 

giving our love publicity, but if it could be so, I 
would proclaim you to the world as my pride, my 
life, my love.” 

“ Ambrose, dear,” said Annette, “ my love is 
equaled only by the respect and sympathy I feel for 
you, and I so often think of your story about the 
mules. I consider it an unquestionable proof that 
uncongenial marriages, when endured to the end, 
are a species of most cruel self-inflicted torture, and 
virtually mean suicide for the sake of ¥ decency. It 
is no argument to say that the imagination of the 
mules made them unhappy, for mules do not imag- 
ine things, and when they were likely to die of grief 
under the care of the man who treated them well, 
but whose presence and association was poison to 
them, and then grew well and strong under the same 
care of a man who was congenial to them, I feel 
that my divorce under even less redeeming condi- 
tions was justified by every law of heaven and earth, 
and even more. See ! how happy and well I look 
now ; and if it were not for the shadow that ever 
stands between me and perfect peace, I feel that 
this earth, this life, would be a paradise, in which I 
could not sin, if you were mine alone. Some peo- 
ple, Ambrose, date the beginning of life or the be- 
ginning of death from the date of their marriage,” 
and then as her eyelashes drooped before the in- 
tensity of her lover’s gaze, she said softly, “ but I 
date the beginning of my life from the day that you 
gave me my decree of divorce.” 

A prolonged silence followed this confession of 
Annette ; a silence which to both of them was far 
more expressive than any words that could be 
spoken ; a complete affinity of soul seemed estab- 


The Client 


258 

lished, in which question or comment would have 
jarred harshly upon the ecstasy of this, the last hour 
of their earthly Elysium. 

For the shadows of approaching twilight began 
to darken the room, and loath to part, Ambrose 
at length broke the silence, and said, 44 You re- 
member, dear, the lines of the poem, 4 I am Dying, 
Egypt, Dying.’ ” 

44 Yes,” said Annette, in a low tone, 44 1 remem- 
ber.” 

44 Can you understand how they are marked for 
immortality ? ” 

44 Not as a woman,” said Annette with a smile. 
44 Remember I am not Cleopatra.” 

44 And I am not Marc Antony,” said Ambrose, 
44 but when with you, I can appreciate his feelings, 
as he said, 

“ * Charming sorceress of the Nile, 

Light the path of Stygian horrors with the splendor of thy 
smile.’ ” 

An anxious expression appeared on the face of 
Annette as she replied, — 

44 Don’t let me be a charming sorceress to you, 
Ambrose. I am content to be the woman you 
love. Don’t let me exercise any power over you 
save that inspired by honest affection.” 

But Ambrose, apparently oblivious to what she 
said, and gazing upward at the ceiling of the room, 
as if in communion with his thoughts, and in the 
business contemplation of some action inspired by 
the words, went on, — 


‘ Who when drunk with thy caresses, 
Madly threw the world away.’ ” 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 259 

Annette as she noted the preoccupied manner 
and thoughtful face of her lover, said softly, — 

“ And if I would consent, dear, would you * madly 
throw the world away ’ for me ? ” 

But, alas ! this question of Annette was destined 
to be answered by the events that immediately fol- 
lowed. The telephone bell rang long and sharply. 

“ Oh, I suppose it is the market man, who wants 
to tell me that he can’t send the goods I ordered 
this morning,” said Annette, and she walked to 
the telephone and took down the receiver. 

“ Yes, he is here,” said Annette, then turning to 
Ambrose, she said, — 

“ It is Adolph. He wants you and says, ‘ quick, — 
quick, — quick.’ ” 

Ambrose sprang to the telephone. 

“ Yes ; well ; what is it ? ” he said sharply. Then 
jamming the receiver on its hook with a look of 
horror on his face, he said, — 

“ Great God ! The Portland is on fire, and burn- 
ing down. My hat ! where is my hat ? ” and he 
groped everywhere seeing nothing. 

But Annette, realizing only the possibility of 
danger to her lover, sprang in front of him, and as 
she clasped her hands about his neck the loose 
sleeves of her thin silken robe fell back to her 
shoulders, revealing the beauty of her white arms, 
as they held him in a close convulsive embrace. 

“ Ambrose ! Oh, Ambrose ! ” she said. 

“Let me go, Annette; where is my hat? For 
God’s sake, let me go,” said Ambrose, in hoarse, 
gasping tones, as he struggled to free himself from 
her clinging arms, and then noting her tearful eyes, 
he went on, — “Think of it, her life is perhaps in 


260 


The Client 


danger, Annette ; she is hysterical,” and then he 
pushed aside the trembling red lips that sought to 
meet his own. “ No! no! not now, Annette, I 
cannot. My wife ! my wife ! I must, I will go,” 
and then with staring eyes and distorted features, 
and seeing only his hat which lay upon a table, he 
grasped her white wrists with sufficient force to re- 
lease himself, and seizing his hat, as he opened the 
door, he rushed down-stairs to the street, while 
Annette, whose anxiety for his safety overcame the 
stupefaction she felt as a result of his strange con- 
duct toward her, hastily changed her robe for a 
street costume and hurried after him. 

On gaining the street, Ambrose ran at full speed, 
and quickly traversed the few blocks that separated 
the Richelieu from the Portland. On arriving there, 
he witnessed the usual appalling scenes attendant 
upon a fierce conflagration. The street adjacent to 
the hotel was roped off, and guarded by police who, 
with great difficulty, restrained the immense crowd 
that surged about them. The flames seemed to be 
bursting from almost every part of the hotel. Am- 
brose, with frantic energy, tore his way through the 
crowd, and slipping under the ropes dashed past a 
policeman, who ordered him back, and running 
around to the side of the hotel, where he could see 
the windows of his apartments, he eagerly peered 
through the shifting clouds of smoke and flame to 
learn if his wife had escaped. The fire had started 
and spread so quickly, that many guests had been 
caught in the rooms unable to escape, and at the 
rear end of the building some firemen, with a long 
ladder, were engaged in the rescue of several peo- 
ple, who assembled at a window of one of the upper 


Mr. Grill Loses His Temper 261 

floors, and who were frantically beseeching for aid. 
An iron fire-escape was directly beneath the apart- 
ments of Ambrose, but the hallways that opened 
out therefrom were already pouring forth volumes 
of smoke and flame. As Ambrose located his 
rooms, he saw his wife leaning from a window, and 
he at once realized that she had failed to reach the 
fire-escape from the hallway. 

She recognized her husband at the moment he 
saw her, and extended her arms piteously to him 
in mute appeal. Ambrose started forward, but a 
fireman, divining his intention, grasped his arm in a 
vice-like grip. Realizing that he could not escape 
from the grasp of the fireman, and that argument 
would be of no avail, Ambrose turned upon him, 
and with a terrific blow in the face sent the man 
reeling backward. Then rushing to some water- 
soaked bedding that lay upon the ground, he 
seized a blanket that was dripping wet and started 
up the fire-escape, using the blanket to shield him 
from the smoke and flames that burst from doors 
and windows. As he struggled upward, he realized, 
as did his wife, that she must jump a distance of 
about fifteen feet to the iron landing of the fire-es- 
cape beneath her window, but she waited for her 
husband to reach this spot that he might prevent 
her from being injured, as she fell. Ambrose 
waved his hand to her as he reached the second 
landing, and his cheering words of encouragement 
reached her ears above the roaring flames, but at 
that instant a volume of smoke and flame burst 
from the window at which she was standing, hiding 
her from view. In another instant, with her cloth- 
ing in a blaze, she fell from the window, headlong 


262 


The Client 


to the iron landing below. As her limp and faint- 
ing form struck the grated floor, her husband was at 
her side, and extinguished the flames that burned 
her clothing with the blanket. Then he gathered 
her in his arms, and began his perilous descent. 
The cheering roars of the crowd below fell on his 
ears, as with set teeth and straining muscles he strug- 
gled with his unconscious burden. A huge stream 
of water, directed against the walls above his head 
by the firemen, fell in showers upon him as he went 
down the fire-escape, and though he himself was 
badly burned, the splashing water, as it fell upon 
them, saved them both from greater injury. As he 
reached the ground, reeling from pain and exhaus- 
tion, strong arms reached out to him and both he 
and his unconscious wife were carried to the hos- 
pitable parlor of a near-by neighbor, where willing 
hands ministered to them and sought to allay their 
suffering. 

Through the open window of the parlor, a cheer- 
ing crowd proclaimed its appreciation of the gal- 
lant rescue he had made, and could not be silenced, 
but Ambrose regarded this demonstration of ap- 
proval with grim indifference. Presently Mr. Grill 
burst into the room, and grasping our hero’s hand, 
joyfully directed his attention to the enthusiasm of 
the crowd, but Ambrose, with the habitual im- 
patience that ever marked his character of quiet 
reserve, said, “ I don’t see why they should make 
so much noise and fuss over what I did. It was 
my wife whom I went up the fire-escape to save.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

The house to which the wife of Ambrose was car- 
ried on the afternoon that the Portland was des- 
troyed by fire, was destined by force of circum- 
stances to be her home and that of her husband 
as well, for several weeks that followed. She had 
been terribly injured both by frightful burns, chiefly 
about the face and head, and also by a fractured 
arm, as well as severe internal injuries, which she 
had sustained by falling on the iron landing of the 
fire-escape. She was so badly injured, that when 
she had been restored to consciousness and her 
wounds were dressed, her condition was such that 
any attempt to remove her from the room to which 
she had been carried would have been a matter of 
certain death ; so Ambrose made arrangements by 
which, with the constant attendance of trained 
nurses, his wife should receive every possible atten- 
tion and comfort. For many days her life was de- 
spaired of, but at length a slight improvement in 
her condition was perceptible, and the physician in- 
formed him that there were strong hopes for her 
recovery, though considerable time would be re- 
quired to heal the burns about her face and hands, 
and that the scars would remain. Ambrose, from 
information thus obtained, realized that if his wife 
should live, she would be almost unable to use her 
hands, and by reason of the hideous scars on her 


264 


The Client 


face, she would be an unsightly object of pity for 
the remainder of her life. 

During this period of trial and suffering, Am- 
brose was a devoted husband. He left his wife 
only when pressing business demanded his atten- 
tion. Day and night he was at her bedside, or 
within the sound of her voice, if she needed him. 
The sight of her helpless form, swathed in cruel 
bandages, inspired in him pity and remorse. He 
responded to her moans of pain with loving words 
of kindness and consolation. But though his de- 
votion to his wife, noted by others, was the subject 
of unstinted praise, he felt that he should receive 
no credit for it. He felt that he was acting a part 
that he was only with fitting consistency living up 
to the lie he told when he first said to her, “ I love 
you ” ; that he was but meeting the requirements of 
duty and decency. As a husband he had been a 
consistent actor for many years, and he felt that if 
any credit was due him, he was willing that it 
should be accorded him only for the time that had 
elapsed, and by that God alone who knows the 
secrets of our inmost hearts. He was as indifferent 
to the praise he received for being a good husband, 
as he was to the cheers that had greeted him when 
he carried his wife down the fire-escape through 
smoke and flame to safety. He had done and was 
doing only what was expected of him. He had at 
the age of thirty-three made his marriage vows 
with the sober judgment of mature manhood, and 
ten years later had broken them with the same de- 
liberate premeditation. In his inherited honor 
and pride, he had felt that no sacrifice would have 
been greater than the admission that with mature 


The Parting of the Ways 265 

wisddm he had deliberately made at one and the 
same time an unhappy marriage, and the most se- 
rious mistake of his life, but he had fallen only when 
for the first time in his life he had been consumed 
by an overpowering passion of love. A love that, 
in its reciprocal joy, had torn down and trampled 
upon the flimsy cords that bound him to an as- 
sumption of decency, and forced him to fulfil the 
destiny to which this only love of his manhood 
called him. 

It is but fair to say of our hero, as we thus coldly 
begin to analyze him at a most critical period of his 
life, that he was at heart honest in both his sense of 
duty and his love. Under existing conditions, the 
power of one seemed equal to that of the other, 
and Ambrose, as he thus devoted himself to his 
wife, felt that he was simply waiting for some un- 
seen power to blind his senses and lead him to hap- 
piness, either by the path of duty or the path of 
infamy. How, when and where, it mattered not, 
though he seemed to feel in a hope born of love, 
that Annette would solve the problem, as alas ! by 
the irony of a relentless fate, she was destined 
to do. 

So Ambrose kissed his wife reverently ; he smiled 
upon her ; he cheered, he caressed her, and one day, 
as he sat by her bedside, and she felt some momen- 
tary ease, though she lay stiffened and helpless be- 
neath the bandages that concealed her cruel wounds, 
she said with the mist of joy in her eyes, 

“ You are so good to me, dear. Kiss me.” 

Her husband did as she requested him. 

“ You came in to see me eight times last night, 
when you heard me moan, my poor, tired husband.” 


266 


The Client 


“ Well,” said Ambrose with a smile, “ I didn’t 
know you were keeping tab on me. Are you sure 
it was eight times ? ” 

“ Yes, I always remember it when you thus show 
me how kind and loving you are.” 

Ambrose again felt the sting of remorse as he 
replied, — 

“ Well, dear, my acts of loving kindness to you 
in the past have not been so numerous that you 
would have trouble in remembering them.” 

“ You have always been a good husband, dear, 
but I suppose I expected too much. I drove you 
from me. I did not know. I do know now,” and 
again the tears stood in her eyes. “ Forgive me.” 
Here she attempted to raise her arms to him, but 
as they fell at her side, she gave a moan of pain. 

“ There is nothing for me to forgive, dear. Let 
the past be forgotten,” said her husband, and his 
own eyes were dim with grief, as he spoke. 

“ I know,” said the wife, “ you have always loved 
me though you did not tell me, and when I saw 
you, my brave husband, coming after me through 
the flames, my last doubt of your love was gone 
forever, and you do love me, don’t you, dear?” 

“ Why of course I love you,” said Ambrose in a 
tone somewhat jocular. “ If you question it again, 
I will call and see you sixteen times to-night.” 

The plaintive, pathetic gaze of his wife, as he 
said this, was fixed upon him inquiringly, and a 
fleeting shadow appeared on her face which her 
husband interpreted as a tacit remonstrance to his 
untimely levity, and so he stroked her hair caress- 
ingly. 

“ I don’t think I have ever understood you, Am- 


The Parting of the Ways 267 

brose, dear/’ she said. “ I have always grieved 

because I was not pretty, and now ” Here 

her tears flowed freely, and sobs choked her voice, 
as she said, “ You will always have a wife who is 
hideous and unsightly ; an ugly, repulsive looking 

cripple, and you ” She could say no more, for 

violent grief prevented utterance, and her husband 
in silence kissed away her tears. 

“ But you will live, dear, and you will love me, 
and I shall love you, the same as of old. Your ap- 
pearance will make no more difference to me in the 
future than it has in the past, for the only beauty 
that will hold a man in constancy and devotion to 
his wife is the beauty of her soul ; the purity of her 
heart.” And Ambrose, as he uttered these words 
with a silent prayer, wonderingly felt that they were 
not actually deceptive and unreal, though an im- 
pulse of pity had inspired them. 

She smiled joyously through her tears, as her 
husband thus consoled her, and said, — 

“ It is the thought that you loved me, that I was 
sure of it at last that has made me live. I want to 
live if only to be to you the wife I ought to be. I 
am so happy, so contented, Ambrose, dear. I can 
bear the pain so much easier now,” and she smiled 
brightly, as a moan escaped her fevered lips. 

“ Well, dear, you must not talk any more now. 
I will go in the next room, and look over the 
paper. Take a nap if you can. Perhaps I may 
doze a little myself, if you don’t need me.” 

“ Yes, dear, sleep if you can. I won’t call you, 
and the nurse can get me anything I may want. 
Kiss me again before you go.” 

Ambrose, as he went into the adjoining room, 


268 


The Client 


closed the door softly after him, and walking to a 
window, looked out over the green yard beyond. 
The mist that stood in his eyes was burned by the 
fever of his grief, and the tears could not fall. As 
he thus, with dimmed gaze, looked down to the 
yard below, he noted, with morbid indifference, the 
antics of two kittens, who with uplifted tails, alter- 
nately chased each other over the lawn, or in close 
embrace and with open jaws rolled over and over in 
pretended combat. In the topmost boughs of a tall 
tree some feathered songster, with shrill, piercing 
notes, warbled out his song of joy. It mattered 
not to him that song-birds warbled in the bright 
sunshine, or that all nature was full of bounding 
joy — for, when in the heart of man all the senses are 
dead to the inspiring influences of purity — then hell 
begins. 

Ambrose remained standing at the window for 
some time. Then turning, with a deep sigh, he 
threw himself into an easy chair, and closed his 
eyes, not for sleep, but for the purpose of reflec- 
tion. As he thus reclined at ease, he heard the 
door-bell , ring, and a few minutes later a soft tapping 
was heard at his door. As he opened it, a maid 
said to him, 

“ A lady in the parlor, sir, desires to see you. 
When I went to the door, she first inquired how 
Mrs. Pierce was, and I told her she was still in 
bed, but was better. Then she asked to see you, 
sir/’ 

“ Did she give you her name or a card ? ” said 
Ambrose. 

“ I asked for her name, sir, and she said, ‘ Miss 
Borden.’ ” 


The Parting of the Ways 269 

“ Tell the lady I will come down in a minute,” he 
said. 

About ten days had elapsed since Am v 'rose had 
so hastily parted from A mette at the Richelieu, and 
with the exception of a telephone message giving 
his address and a statement as to existing condi- 
tions, delivered to her by Adolph, they had not 
seen or heard from each other. 

Annette, in following Ambrose to the fire, had 
arrived in time to see him bear the unconscious 
form of his wife down the fire-escape. She had 
then returned to her home, and awaited in silence 
for some further message from her lover. Ambrose, 
on his part, had felt that in sending his only 
message through Adolph, he had fulfilled the 
requirements of decorum and that the state of 
affairs subsequently had raised a question of ethics 
too abstruse for him to solve, either as a lawyer or 
a lover. So, as we have stated, in doing what he 
conceived to be his duty, he had awaited with ai \ 
indifference, born only of despair, for the guiding 
impulse of some unseen and unknown power, anc 
with no thought as to what he should say or do, he 
hastened down-stairs to meet Annette. As he 
entered the old-fashioned, over-furnished parlor, 
somewhat musty from lack of ventilation and from 
which heavy curtains excluded the light, he saw her 
standing at a window at the front, and, as ever be- 
fore, her presence seemed to impart to his senses an 
indescribable charm, by which the dullest, most 
commonplace environs were brightened and made 
to reflect her delicate and subtle power of fascina- 
tion. Holding aside the heavy lace curtains with 
one hand, she was looking out to the street, but 


270 The Client 

at the sound of his footsteps, she turned toward 
him. 

“ Annette,” said Ambrose, as stepping forward 
quickly he extended his hand, but the fleeting shadow 
of a smile that appeared on his face was but a 
ghastly expression of expiring hope, and empha- 
sized, if possible, the sweet sadness that seemed a 
fixed expression on the face of his mistress. 

Annette made no reply to the greeting of her 
lover, but the guiding impulse that Ambrose had 
awaited was promptly inspired by her action in 
quickly drawing her hand from his, after a scarcely 
perceptible responding pressure. 

Then seated by the window, they gazed at each 
other for several minutes in unbroken silence. It 
was to each of them a moment fraught with mean- 
ing so intense, that a space of years seemed covered 
by each measured tick of the tall clock that stood 
near by. Of what use were mere words at such a 
time? The suffering that each had endured during 
the ten days that had passed was plainly visible. 
Ambrose was shocked at the thin, wan face of his 
mistress, and Annette turned away her eyes as she 
noted the haggard, drawn lines of her lovers 
anxious countenance. Then, resting her arm on 
the window-sill, she gazed out upon the street, as 
she made a supreme but successful effort to restrain 
her tears. 

Presently she looked at him again, and in a voice 
so calm, so quiet, that it seemed expressionless, she 
said, 

“ Did I do wrong in coming ? The suspense, — 
you understand, Adolph knows so much. I thought 
it would be indelicate to ask him.” 


The Parting of the Ways 271 

As Ambrose listened to this first inquiry of his 
mistress, he felt that the question she asked in a tone 
void of feeling, could be responded to only with a 
similar degree of formality, and yet did not her un- 
happy face plead more eloquently than words ? 
Though she had withdrawn her hand from his, had 
she not spoken of her suspense ? Had she not 
expected in thus coming to him that he would say 
to her so much more than what Adolph would say ? 
And in coming thus unbidden to him, was she not 
— but here Ambrose paused in his rapid surmising, 
as he noted the anxious eyes that gazed upon him; 
but with deliberate, measured words, as expres- 
sionless as her own, he replied, — 

“ It was quite right to come here ; better than to 
ask Adolph. I have looked for you and expected 
you every day.” 

Again they sat looking at each other in silence, 
and again Ambrose seemed to await some influence 
that would remove the barrier of conventionality, 
that Annette, by her bearing, had placed between 
them, but her manner indicated a desire only that 
he should accord to her the merciful forbearance 
and kind consideration she had a right to expect, 
and her next inquiry was made with a voice whose 
calm firmness left no doubt in his mind as to what 
she expected of him on this occasion. 

“ How is Mrs. Pierce? ” she said. 

Ambrose looked at her keenly, but his emotion 
was ill concealed by an assumption of carelessness 
in manner and attitude. In replying his voice 
seemed to possess a metallic harshness. It was 
judicial and impartial in its measured cadence. He 
seemed to be successfully maintaining a perceptible 


272 


The Client 


equipoise between duty and inclination, as if he 
would not offend Annette by exhibiting emotion or 
feeling for his wife, in her presence, and yet he 
showed a desire to convince her, that in the per- 
formance of duty he should not be remiss as a 
husband. 

“ Mrs. Pierce is better,” he said. “ The doctor 
says she will live.” Here he turned away his eyes 
and looked out to the street as he continued. “ He 
advises me that as soon as she is able to stand the 
ride, I should take her away from the city. He 
suggests the mountains where it is cool ; so I think 
we shall go to Northwood, as that is the nearest 
mountain resort that would be suitable. I have 
written there for rooms, and hope she will be able to 
stand the journey in about a week.” 

Ambrose, as he concluded these remarks, looked 
at Annette rather pleadingly, but if he felt that his 
manner and tone had in any way deceived her, he 
was promptly undeceived a moment later, when, as 
if in reply to the meaning he apparently desired 
to convey, more than to the words she uttered, 
she thoughtfully said, as she gazed at him in- 
tently, — 

“ I saw you that afternoon at the fire when you 
carried her down the fire-escape. Your noble, self- 
sacrificing devotion as a husband was superb. It 
was worthy of you.” 

Ambrose nervously struck his knee with his hand, 
as she said this, and turning away gazed from the 
window. He could not at any time appreciate a 
reference to this action, and now when he felt that 
Annette had spoken of it with the palpable inten- 
tion of rebuking him for the assumed indifference to 


The Parting of the Ways 273 

his wife he had just shown, he felt a sense of resent- 
ment toward her. He felt that she, like the cheer- 
ing crowd, had credited his conduct to love instead 
of duty. He was willing that the world should thus 
estimate him. — A veneer of virtue and respecta- 
bility was a social and business necessity — but he 
was so honest with himself, that in his heart he 
firmly refused the honor thus accorded him. He 
was unwilling that Annette should thus misunder- 
stand him, for it made him apparently false to her, 
and yet he was determined that she should respect 
him ; that she should believe and understand him. 
He was determined that her love and confidence in 
him should not suffer, even if he sacrificed his 
self-respect in forcing her to realize his true feel- 
ings ; so his resentment was plainly indicated, 
both by his querulous tone and words, as he re- 
plied, — 

“ Would you have respected and loved me more 
or less had I stood there with the crowd and left 
her to die ? ” 

The only reply that Annette made was to look 
at him with a piteous gaze. She raised her hand in 
remonstrance, as she noted his ill-concealed though 
repressed anger. 

“ Tell me/' said Ambrose bitterly, “ was I a traitor 
to you by trying to be a man ? ” 

“ I cannot answer you, Ambrose, only to say that 
as a man you did just what I should have expected 
you to do. Don’t say any more now. I implore 
you. It is not the time or place to talk thus,” said 
Annette, tearfully. 

But Ambrose in his desperate resentment, in his 
humiliation, seemed goaded to a pitch of excite- 


274 


The Client 


ment in which his self-respect was forgotten, as he 
stood before her and almost hissed in her ear, 

“ Let me tell you, Annette, you alone; you 
understand, the truth, the truth, I say. When I 
risked my own life to save that of my wife, it was 
from the same sense of duty that prompted my 
action when I faced the mob to save the life of the 
devil that murdered my sister. I am not a hero. 
I am only a man. I lay bare my heart to you, to 
you alone, Annette. My sense of honest duty has 
ever been compatible with my conception of justice. 
This is perhaps the only real virtue I possess, and I 
will say more than this, even though your love 
should turn to hatred. Strip my soul of its robe of 
flesh ; give it the breath of eternal life, and in the 
shades of the world beyond, you will ever find it 
clinging to the cross of consistency, whether its 
abode be in Paradise or Perdition/’ 

Annette arose from her chair, trembling with 
emotion and nervous dread, and adjusting her veil 
preparatory to departure, she said inquiringly, — 

“ She will not know that I called, I suppose ? ” 

“ I shall not tell her,” said Ambrose moodily. 
“ She would appreciate the courtesy, but she might 
possibly question its meaning.” 

Annette stood for a moment in seeming embar- 
rassment, as with downcast eyes, she put on her 
gloves, and then she said, rather abruptly, “ I must 
go, Ambrose — good-bye.” 

But Ambrose, without replying, stood between 
her and the door, and Annette hesitated to extend 
her hand, fearful that forgetfulness on the part of 
one or both might result from such action, and yet 
he did not move from where he stood, but remained 


The Parting of the Ways 275 

looking at her with an intense and gloomy stare. 
Presently Annette, with bowed head, stepping 
quietly to one side, passed him, and Ambrose made 
no motion to restrain her, but even in the dim light 
of the room he could see that the blush on her 
face was so deep that it assumed a purple tinge, as 
though she felt in thus parting from him that the 
code of ethics her honest heart had established 
between them, made of her, in the room beneath 
that in which lay the suffering wife, a thing of evil 
who was unworthy of her lovers kiss. 

As Ambrose followed her to the hall, he closed 
the inner vestibule door, and again with his hand 
on the knob of the outer door he paused for a 
moment, as she stood silently waiting for him to 
open it for her, but Annette with honest pleading 
eyes simply looked at him, as she said, — 

“ Will you ’phone me occasionally in regard to 
her condition ? ” 

Ambrose accepted this final remark with an in- 
clination of his head. It was patent to him that 
their relations for an indefinite future period were 
definitely fixed. Not a word about seeing him 
elsewhere. He was merely to ’phone her occa- 
sionally, and to say with stereotyed formality that 
his wife was better or worse, so he quietly replied, — 

“ I will do as you request.” 

As Annette went down the steps, she again said, 
“ Good-bye,” but this time the freedom of the street 
and the safety she felt in the distance between them 
prompted her to relax the reserve she had assumed, 
and she gave him a loving smile as she hastened 
away; and then Ambrose, as he closed the door 
and stood silent with a shamefaced consciousness of 


276 


The Client 


his weakness, made a logical and judicial deduction 
from what had just transpired. By a quick and im- 
partial analysis of the love and relations that existed 
between himself and Annette, he realized that the 
honor of her love was greater than his, and as he 
thus judged her from a standard of morality on a 
level with his own, but under conditions in which 
he had less excuse for yielding to weakness than 
she, the unchangeable conviction of a heaven-in- 
spired truth was forced upon him, as he uttered 
these words, 

“ Women, morally, are better than men.” 

But now, as the hero of our story returns to his 
lonely vigil, to his self-imposed task, let us accord 
to his manhood whatever need of praise is due. 

By reason of long association, he was as honest 
in the respect and regard he felt for his wife, as he 
was honest in his love for Annette. Absent from 
temptation, his affection for his wife was shorn of 
earthly desire ; when he caressed her, he felt the 
purifying influence of her virtue. He kissed her 
reverently, but his devotion was that of duty. It 
was to him the fulfilment of the Divine command ; 
the purity of the soul where carnal sin is consumed. 
He could appreciate the love of a father for his 
daughter when he cultivates in himself a love for 
purity, by reason of the protection he extends to 
the virtue of his child. As for his wife, the silent 
influence of her purity, shorn of the bitter recrimi- 
nations of the past, and rendered pathetic by her 
helplessness, was now at times stronger than his 
inclination to sin. Her pure love and virtue as a 
wife, made sin repugnant to him. He thus uncon- 
sciously fanned into a flame the smouldering embers 


The Parting of the Ways 277 

of inherent virtue that had been almost extinguished 
by the evil influences that had dominated his life 
since childhood ; a flame which as the Divine light 
of a love that duty and honor inspired, consumed 
evil, and made passion subservient to the nobler 
manhood to which he was uplifted by this undefiled 
creation of God, and to whom he owed the duty of 
a husband. 

And so as the days glided by, and he noted the 
improvement in his wife’s condition, he fixed upon 
a day for her removal to the mountains. Com- 
fortable rooms had been engaged at a modest hotel, 
and when the day for departure arrived, the wife, 
assisted by her husband and a nurse, was removed 
in safety to North wood, where it was hoped that 
the pure, cool mountain air would prove so agree- 
able a change, that her impaired vitality, a result 
of the shock and terrible injuries she had sustained, 
would be in a great degree restored. 

Another ten days had elapsed since Ambrose had 
seen Annette, and it was now past midsummer. In 
accordance with her request, he had on several oc- 
casions called her up by telephone from his office, 
and briefly advised her of the state of affairs, and at 
no time did he ask to see her or depart from the 
formalities of ordinary social friendship. But now 
located as he was at Northwood, he arranged to 
come to the city only when urgent business made it 
necessary ; so after a period of about two weeks, 
when he had not been at his office for several days, 
he came in one morning quite early in response to 
a letter which Adolph had sent him, calling his at- 
tention to the unexpected and urgent developments 


The Client 


278 

of an important case. After a brief discussion of 
business matters, Adolph said, — 

“ Mrs. Caldwell telephoned yesterday and asked 
me when you would be in town. I told her I had 
written you in regard to an urgent business matter, 
and that you would surely be here to-day.” 

“ Did she send any message ? ” said Ambrose. 

“ No,” said Adolph. “ Only that she would send 
her maid here with a note for you before noon with 
reference to a matter which you would under- 
stand.” 

“ Very well,” said Ambrose, and, seated at his 
desk, he was soon absorbed with the work before 
him. A little before noon the faithful maid of An- 
nette arrived, bearing the expected missive, and as 
Ambrose asked her to be seated, he nervously tore 
open the dainty, perfumed envelope she had given 
him. The letter was very brief, and Ambrose as he 
read it over and over again, coughed nervously, 
passing his hand over his face, which grew red and 
pale in turn, with painful perplexity, as he noticed 
the maid watching him closely. The note read as 
follows, — 

“ Ambrose, please come. 

“ Annette.” 

Ambrose folded the note and replaced it in its en- 
velope, apparently in deep thought and embarrass- 
ment. He quickly understood both its meaning 
and its brevity. He understood the degree of un- 
happiness that had inspired it. He felt that in her 
sense of pride and shame, she could not trust her- 
self to talk thus to him by telephone. That her 


The Parting of the Ways 279 

love at least to the extent of two words had over- 
powered every other feeling. That she could not 
resist saying less, and would not say more. 

“ Is there any answer to the note, sir ? ” said the 
maid, as she arose from her chair. 

“ Why, no," said Ambrose slowly. “ Not now, 
but stay a moment,” and the maid resumed her 
chair. “ Yes, I will answer it.” And as the spectre 
of his helpless wife, with her pathetic, loving eyes 
came before him, he wrote as follows, — 

“ Annette, I cannot come now. Wait. 

“ Ambrose.” 

With feverish haste he sealed the note and handed 
it to the maid, who took her departure. Then with 
a silent prayer for the impulse that had guided his 
action, he clinched his hands until the finger nails 
almost cut the flesh as he listened to the footsteps 
of the maid going down the stairway and out to the 
street. He then started from his chair as to follow 
her and to take back the note, but again the vision of 
his wife came before his eyes, and after pressing to 
his lips the perfumed note, he fiercely tore it into 
minute fragments. Then, sinking baclk in his chair, 
his tense muscles relaxed, and a vague fear came 
into his heart, as in fevered imagination he saw An- 
nette reading his abrupt message. 

“ I will telephone her that I will come,” he said, 
as he tremblingly arose from his chair, and then, — 

“ Fie, this weakness is inexcusable. I must and 
will be a man. Here in this room where I look 
upon the memories of the happiest hour of my life, 
and which at the same time was the hour in which 


28 o 


The Client 


my piece of mind was lost forever, here where I 
was weak, I shall be strong, though I could never 
say in her presence the words I have just written. 

Here I ” and then with voice clear and decisive 

he called out, — 

“ Adolph.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Adolph, as he appeared at the 
door. 

“ Call up Hoffmeyer, and tell him to come here 
at two thirty to-day. Tell him to be promptly on 
time, as I must make a train for Northwood at four 
o’clock.” 

Then, picking up a voluminous legal document, 
he unfolded it with such nervous haste that a dis- 
tinctly audible crackling sound was produced, and 
holding it unfolded with both hands, he spoke again, 
but this time quietly. — “ And, Adolph ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ You are, of course, aware that my relations with 
Mrs. Caldwell have been for some time of a friendly 
as well as businesslike nature.” 

Adolph bowed in discreet silence. 

“ Also that they have been to some extent, con- 
fidential.” 

Adolph again inclined his head silently. 

“ The incidents growing out of her suit for divorce 
are virtually closed, and in the future I would wish 
you to observe your usual caution, should any one 
refer to these matters.” 

He then apparently became absorbed in the 
perusal of the paper he held, as Adolph quietly re- 
tired to his room. 

A week passed, and no further message came 
from Annette. Her silence was to Ambrose far 


The Parting of the Ways 281 

worse than written or verbal complaint, and at 
length, tortured almost to the verge of distraction 
by his fears and the conflicting emotions of love and 
duty, he finally decided that neither his moral nor 
physical strength was equal to the strain he thus 
daily endured, and he determined that in a letter 
which he should w'rite to Annette, he would end 
forever all questions of doubt and uncertainty, and 
force upon her, as well as himself, the moral status 
that their illicit love implied. He felt that in send- 
ing a letter such as he contemplated, he would pre- 
cipitate a crisis. That he had morally reached 
the lowest rounds of the ladder of infamy, and that 
the next step meant oblivion, but he could endure 
no more ; so in hopeless misery he sought a secluded 
spot, and as virtue and manhood in a last Titanic 
struggle died in his heart, he wrote as follows : — 

“ Annette, I must and will tell you all, or I shall 
go mad. I must describe to you, if I can, the strug- 
gle between my conscience and my love, for it is 
killing me. In the frightful misery I have endured, 
and which I feel has rendered me mentally irre- 
sponsible, I don’t know which I deserve the most, — 
your pity or your curses. For more than a month 
I have done what was my plain and honest duty, as 
with no inspiring motive, save that of personal 
honor, I had done for ten years before meeting you ; 
and I confess with what is perhaps my last sense of 
shame, that while I did the best I could, the grati- 
tude, love and respect that my conduct inspired in 
others, has produced in my heart no feeling of 
peace, that heaven bestows as a reward for duty per- 
formed, though in my despair, I hopelessly prayed 
for this result, but instead, has filled my soul with 


282 


The Client 


such misery and unrest, that in my love for you, a 
love that so rules my heart that it is my life itself, 
I feel my devotion as a husband has been misplaced. 
Call me a degenerate if you will, but let me be con- 
sistent ; I love you, Annette, you alone ; see ! over 
my own signature with my own pen, I write these 
words. By this letter I shall give you absolute 
power over me, for you, who have less occasion to 
feel the stings of an outraged conscience, must do 
for me what I cannot do for myself. Can you be 
more cruel than I ? Can you take this letter to my 
wife and read it to her ? Can you tell her the full 
measure of my sin ? Does not the bare contempla- 
tion of such an act enable you to realize in some de- 
gree the misery I endure? You cannot conceive 
of how, in my ail absorbing love for you, I have 
struggled to break the chains of conscience that 
bind me to her. I have started a hundred times to 
come to you. In the dead hours of night, I have 
resolved that my first act of the following day should 
be to come to you, but as you are legally responsi- 
ble only to yourself, you perhaps cannot understand 
how I feel. Can you explain for me a sentiment 
that holds me to my wife, when my every breath, 
my every heart-beat, my every sigh is one of pas- 
sionate love for you ? Are pity and respect so akin 
to love that they are in reality its Divine sub- 
stance ? 

“ Where is the point of departure at which we 
may draw a dividing line between earthly duty and 
earthly desire ? And will I be happy in repudiat- 
ing my marriage vows with no excuse that morality 
could sanction ? An act that would ostracize me 
from society and perhaps from you ? Should I stay 


The Parting of the Ways 283 

with her? Should I finish a life of misery, and 
hope for the happiness of uncertain future life, for 
uncertain reward, or should I accept or hope for the 
certainty of earthly bliss with you ? Could I, in 
your arms, forget when there is so much for me to 
remember ? Will your loving words, your caresses, 
banish from my mind the helpless form whose lov- 
ing heart leaps from her eyes when they rest on 
me ? Shall I leave my wife now and forever, and 
come to you? Will you accept me if I come? 
Would you kiss or curse the traitor, who thus be- 
trayed the helpless innocence and purity of God ? 

“ Do not misinterpret the meaning of this letter, 
Annette. You must not, you shall not. In all 
this chaos of my soul, there is no question of my 
love for you. It is only that you have set a task 
for my conscience too severe, and death is prefera- 
ble to its continuance. 

“ You have repeatedly insisted that I should not 
break the heart that loves and leans on me. By 
your persistent refusal to wreck the happiness of 
my wife, you have preserved her peace of mind, but 
you have added to my misery by forcing upon me 
a proper conception of my duty, and a more in- 
tense realization of my crime. You have sacrificed 
yourself on the altar of our illicit, hopeless love, and 
in doing so, gave up all that virtue and honor a 
good woman holds most dear ; while I, in obedience 
to your desires and the promptings of my own con- 
science, have sought to endure the love of my long 
estranged wife, while my heart, chilled with dark- 
ness and gloom, in its fevered imagination, was ever 
seeking the sunshine of your smiles and the music 
of your voice. 


The Client 


284 

“ In my absence, existence to you is not so 
harsh, for with my departure no spectre of guilt, 
living or dead, arises to confront you. So imagine, 
if you can, the agony I endure, when on my return 
from you, I must accept the trusting love, the confi- 
dence and caresses of my wife, whose pathetic, 
mournful eyes overwhelm me with remorse, haunt 
me throughout my waking hours, and fill even my 
dreams with terror. Ah, no ! Annette, Annette, 
all this must end. I cannot and will not continue 
this pretense of manhood. You must either go 
with me far away, or we must part. We cannot 
be lawfully happy, but let us hope we can forget. 
I will go with you to the end of the world. I will 
provide for her, so that she shall not want, but I 
cannot go on as in the past. I cannot caress her, 
thinking only of you, for my soul cries out against 
such monstrous hypocrisy. If I have never yet told 
you how much I love you, let me do so now. I can 
and will commit any crime for your sake, but I can- 
not live thus, standing in the lime-light of purity, and 
realize the stinging contrasts of innocence and guilt. 
We must face the issue as it stands. I am willing 
to be known as the worst of criminals, if you wili 
love me. I shall do as you say, Annette. Your 
love for me has afforded me the only happy hours 
I have known since childhood, and in its all prevad- 
ing power it shall consign me to future joy or woe. 
In you, Annette, lies my destiny. 

“ I cannot end this letter and say it is finished. 
My heart, not my hand seems to guide the pen, and 
it fain and ever would write helplessly and hope- 
lessly, only these words. I love you, Annette, I 
love you. Choose for me, Annette; say to me, 


The Parting of the Ways 285 

come as you are, come to me forever. Say that 
you will take me as the wretch that I am. Show 
me how much you love me. Prove to me that in 
your heart your love for me is stronger than my 
sense of duty, and I, such as I am, will come to you. 
I, who in life or in death will ever be your lover. 

“ Ambrose.” 


CHAPTER XV 


MRS. WEEDAHL ADVISES ANNETTE 

Northwood, a pleasing little summer resort in 
the mountains, while a place of vital interest to the 
chief actors in this narrative, was a sparsely settled 
community, whose unpretentious hotels and time- 
worn, weather-beaten cottages, at varying distances 
from each other, constituted a place of abode for 
the summer, whose general features were quite fa- 
miliar to Americans of moderate means. There 
was a general store, which also served as a post- 
office, and almost anything in the line of merchan- 
dise was obtainable there, from candy to salt pork, 
and from golf sticks to plows. Beyond this central 
industry, the only apparent business of the place 
seemed to be the work of caring for summer board- 
ers. In looking over the unkempt, poorly-clothed, 
but hardy-looking natives, the first impression of the 
visitor would naturally be one of curiosity, to know 
how they kept from starving during the long, cold 
winters. But while we have no hesitation in saying 
that this anxiety for the mountaineer would be a 
matter of concern to the visitor on his arrival, 
should he stay for the entire summer season, it 
would not be a source of worriment to him when 
he departed. 

The scenery in the vicinity of Northwood was 
quite wild and picturesque. The railroad, in ap- 
proaching it, wound around and through a seemingly 


Mrs. Weedahl Advises Annette 287 

endless cluster of densely-wooded hills, which in 
their far-removed, isolated altitudes, seemed no part 
of an integral system, but a vast and most intricate 
maze of nature ; so that when the traveler arrived 
at his destination, his senses of location were so 
confused, that the sun never seemed to be in the 
right place until he got home again. 

The vale, or glen, as it was familiarly known to 
the residents and visitors at Northwood, was the 
principal scenic attraction. It was wild, rocky and 
deep, and a large mountain stream rushed and tum- 
bled over the rocks and boulders, as with headlong 
precipitancy it sought a smoother bed in the open 
country beyond. The principal points of interest 
in the glen were rendered accessible by well-kept 
paths, which led through a forest of tall trees ; other 
paths diverging from these, led to pleasing and more 
secluded nooks, where rustic benches and spreading 
areas of luxuriant ferns invited the world-weary 
mortal to revel in solitude and calm repose. 

It was in one of these obscure localities, close by 
the brink of the ravine, and to which through the 
branches of the trees was wafted the fragrance of 
new-mown hay from an adjoining field that Am- 
brose had written his letter to Annette. Here, 
alone with nature and nature’s God, his emotions 
had fought what was virtually a drawn battle with 
his conscience, and the only commendable result of 
the struggle was that truth and consistency had 
been strictly observed. He had not paused to con- 
sider the possible effect of his words, and after fin- 
ishing the letter, he folded, addressed and sealed it 
in what seemed to be a condition of mad delirium. 
A vague and undefinable purpose seemed to pos- 


288 


The Client 


sess his mind, for which he felt morally irresponsi- 
ble, and which was almost akin to that of the 
maniac, whose conduct, when bereft of his reason, 
is indicative only of the pitiable cause that made 
him insane. He felt that in writing this letter, he 
had in his agony of mind obeyed both the prompt- 
ings of his heart and conscience. That he had, 
with consistent truth and sincerity, revealed all, and 
had not evaded in any way the responsibilities of 
his honor or his love. He seemed fearful that his 
resolve to send the letter would fail. Then as he 
noted the increasing shadows about him, he hastily 
consulted his watch and found that it was near sun- 
set. Brushing aside the branches of the trees, he 
climbed over the fence, and following a road that 
divided the fields, he made a short cut to the vil- 
lage. He entered the post-office, stamped his letter, 
and then with the same feeling of doubt and uncer- 
tainty, dropped it into the letter-box. Then, stand- 
ing for a moment irresolute, his arms seeming to 
hang helpless at his side, he walked quickly from the 
post-office to his hotel. As he hastened along, he 
met a group of ladies and gentlemen, guests of the 
hotel at which he was located, and who stopped as 
they saw him rapidly approaching. Ambrose, as 
he paused in front of them, raised his hat with a 
kindly smile and a polite “ good-evening.” 

“ Why, judge, where have you been ?” said one 
of the ladies. “We were about to organize a 
searching-party to look for you. You will lose 
your dinner, if you don’t hurry, and your wife on 
the porch is waiting for you anxiously.” 

“ I am very sorry that my absence has caused anx- 
iety,” said Ambrose, quietly. “ I was loafing in 


Mrs. Weedahl Advises Annette 289 

the woods some distance from here, and did not 
realize that it was growing so late.” 

“ We comforted your wife the best we could,” 
continued the lady. “ We told her that even a 
model husband would sometimes be late for dinner.” 

“ Thank you,” said Ambrose, smilingly. “ For 
of course in speaking of model husbands you must 
mean me. But really I have known of model hus- 
bands who did worse than that,” and bowing again, 
he hastened on. 

He found his wife awaiting him on the hotel 
porch, and she smiled happily, and came forward to 
meet him, as he hastened up the steps. Thin, white 
gloves concealed her unsightly hands, and a light 
veil hid from view to some extent the deep red 
scars that disfigured her face. The mountain air 
had wrought a great change in her condition, and 
her general health and strength were now nearly 
restored. Her disfigured face and hands were a 
constant source of grief to her, and any perceptible 
curiosity of strangers caused her the keenest humili- 
ation. She maintained, at all times, an attitude of 
reserve toward the guests of the hotel, and while she 
accepted, with grateful cordiality, the companion- 
ship of other ladies, she made no attempts to force 
herself upon them. With a deeper sense of pain she 
felt that even her husband, in the marked attention 
he showed her, found inspiration for his conduct in 
a sense of pity, that his constant devotion was a 
task. That he too, in a paraphrase of Young’s fa- 
miliar words, “ Would his ready visit pay where 
beauty smiled,” and then realizing that in the past 
she had actually fought to win his love ; that her 
virtue and her complaints alike had failed ; that 


290 


The Client 


even her ordinary attractiveness was now gone for- 
ever, and that of his former uninteresting wife only an 
object of pity now remained, she still consoled herself 
with the thought that one heart loved her-, and with 
the pleading pathos of an affection that sought to 
comfort him ; to devise some innocent compensa- 
tion for his devotion, and which ever indicated the 
fear in her heart that her husband would grow 
weary of her, she appealed as of old to his imagina- 
tion by frequently saying, 

“ But, Ambrose, dear, you still have my picture, 
and you can tell your friends that I wasn’t always 
so ugly as I am now. 1 ’ 

But Ambrose, with despairing indifference, with 
alternate hope and fear, thinks only of the results 
his letter to Annette will produce, and as he sits 
with his wife in an obscure corner of the porch, 
her elbow resting on the arm of his chair, the 
mechanical regularity of his hand in caressing hers 
at length becomes a source of amusement to her, 
and she says laughingly, 

“ What a machine lover you are, Ambrose. 
Thank you, that will do.” 

On the morning following the day it was written, 
Annette received the letter. She read it hastily. 
A word was a sentence. Then she reread it, again 
and again. For an hour or more she sat alone, im- 
movable. The pallor of her face and the vacant 
stare of her eyes seemed to indicate that a dark 
abyss had yawned before her, and beyond which 
the star of hope faded forever from her view. 
Thus, dumb with grief, she sat cold and motionless, 
while two sentences of the letter rang in her 
ears. “ Do for me what I cannot do for myself. 


Mrs. Weedahl Advises Annette 291 

Show me how much you love me.” Then, as na- 
ture asserted itself, in the weakness of her love, she 
burst into tears, through which she dimly gazed at 
the letter she still held in her hand, as she said, 

“ You have asked too much of me, Ambrose. 
Oh, God, it is too much, too much.” 

And then after the violence of her grief had 
spent itself, her sense of reason, in some degree, re- 
turned to her, and she continued, — 

“ Ah, Ambrose, dear, you expect me to decide 
this question? A question which means life or 
death to me, and perhaps to you? Your honor 
holds your love in bondage, and you beg of my love 
to tempt you further, — to the commission of a 
greater crime. You, a judge, whose senses of jus- 
tice are ever sublime, so conquered by the power of 
your love for me, that you ask, you beg of my 
woman’s heart a decision that would not only dis- 
honor us eternally, but would murder the virtuous 
wife that loves you. Your last hope for happiness 
lies in the thought that I, in my selfish love, will be 
unfair ; that I can be more cruel than you, and stab 
to the heart the love and happiness of your helpless 
wife. Then, in my weakness and guilty shame, I 
should say to you, 4 Come.’ But, ah ! Ambrose, 
how can I say no, when to say it means misery, 
woe and death to me, and to bid you come, means 
life, joy and heaven.” 

And then, as the realization of their love over- 
whelmed her, she went on, “ Ah, how we love each 
other. How I adore him. I will not weep and 
wail. I will not mourn and pray. It is rot. I will, 
yes,” and a smile of hope illumined her face and 
shone through her tears. “ I will write Ambrose a 


292 


The Client 


brief note, and then I will go to Mrs. Weedahl. I 
will tell her everything, and she shall advise me 
what to do.” 

Then seizing a pen and blotting the sheet of pa- 
per both with tears and ink, in eager haste, she 
wrote, as follows, — 

4 4 Ambrose, dear Ambrose, wait for me. I can- 
not decide now. I cannot answer your letter, for I 
am not equal to the task. I will answer it in per- 
son. I love you more than ever, since I have read 
your letter. I cannot write now, but I will tell you, 
and show you how much I love you. Do not come 
to me now. I will come to you soon ; soon, Am- 
brose, dear. 

“ Annette.” 

Then in mild hysteria, as she wept and laughed 
alternately, she threw off her morning robe, and 
standing before a mirror, she loosened the dis- 
arranged coils of her hair, which fell in silken 
masses upon her white and perfectly formed shoul- 
ders and bust, the beauty of which she herself was 
forced to note, as she hastily prepared for a visit to 
Berylwood. 

44 Oh, yes,” she said, as she thus noted in the mir- 
ror the graceful outlines of her beautiful face and 
form, 44 1 am pretty ; Ambrose said so. He said I 
was beautiful, charming, lovely and everything else 
he could think of, and when the long list of adjec- 
tives at his command was exhausted, he crushed me 
in his arms, and then looked and sighed all the rest. 
Poor fellow, — and you love me so, but ah ! Am- 
brose, when this beauty fades, will you But 


Mrs. Weedahl Advises Annette 293 

nonsense, when I fade you will be withered. Now, 
these red eyes, a little witch-hazel and powder. 
Mrs. Weedahl laughs at tears, and Ambrose won’t 
want to carry off a wailing woman as his stolen 
bride, who goes without the formality of license or 
ceremony, if he is thus forced to remember that he 
left another one wailing at home.” 

The reader of this narrative will thus observe that 
Annette was anticipating the advice that Mrs. 
Weedahl would give. That instead of assuming the 
moral responsibility that her lover asked of her, she 
would transfer it to a woman, whom she felt 
would point the way to happiness in their illicit 
love. She believed that while Mrs. Weedahl was 
unscrupulous and dishonorable in many ways, she 
was worldly wise and free from all sentiment to such 
an extent that she would thoroughly endorse her 
proposed flight with Ambrose, and in fact advise 
her that it was the best thing to do. She felt that 
Mrs. Weedahl had more than ordinary common 
sense, and that she was vastly her superior in age 
and wisdom. She knew, that while even Ambrose 
himself felt only contempt for her business honor, 
he had respect for her business ability and sym- 
pathy for her emotional nature, and so Annette, 
yielding to a love that overshadowed every sense 
of moral responsibility, felt that the advice she ex- 
pected^ would justify her in going to Ambrose, and 
telling' him that she would go with him. That in 
her opinion, the happiness of two souls was of more 
importance than the happiness of one, and finally 
that she had seen and consulted Mrs. Weedahl, 
who in her ripe experience and wisdom, had sanc- 
tioned in every way her proposed action. 


294 


The Client 


This was all very well, only Annette had not 
quite made a correct hypothesis as to Mrs. 
Weedahl, but she thought she had, and felt so sure of 
it ; so sure that her moral responsibility was ended ; 
that as the train carried her to Raleigh, she softly 
hummed the air of a popular song with the gayety 
and abandon of a courtesan, who, singing boldly, 
as she stoops to dishonor, so wounds a man’s senses 
of propriety, that his feelings of admiration for her 
are often turned to those of pity. 

On arriving at Raleigh, Annette took a convey- 
ance, and in a few minutes arrived at Berylwood. 
She had not advised Mrs. Weedahl of her intended 
visit, and so, after being duly announced and con- 
ducted to the privacy of her bedroom, she was not 
surprised to find the good lady scantily attired and 
keeping cool with a bottle of iced champagne 
which stood upon a table near at hand, and of 
which she had already freely partaken. 

“ My goodness, Annette. This is an awfully 
pleasing surprise. Come and kiss me. ’Scuse me 
for not getting up. You see I’m perfectly happy. 
That’s right,” she said, as Annette kissed her 
plethoric red cheek. “ When women kiss each 
other the affection in evidence amounts to the same 
as when men shake hands. It don’t mean any 
more, but it’s supposed to be the proper thing,” and 
the intoxicated Jewess leered upon her visitor rather 
grotesquely, as she thus indelicately essayed to ap- 
pear sober. 

Annette felt some sense of dismay as she real- 
ized the condition of her hostess, and as she gazed 
upon her with mingled feelings of impatience and 
shame, she vividly remembered a remark that Am- 


Mrs. Weedahl Advises Annette 295 

brose had once made that the effect of champagne 
upon a pure-minded and virtuous woman was to 
render her a hundredfold more charming, but that 
its effect upon an immoral, immodest woman was to 
render her disgusting. So somewhat abashed, she 
greeted Mrs. Weedahl with quiet diffidence, and for 
the moment made no attempt to converse with her. 

“ Sit down, Annette, right here by me on this 
sofa. Take off your hat while I fix you a drink,” 
and the good lady succeeded in filling a glass with 
champagne, which she gave her visitor, and then 
she went on, — 

“ People who don't object to a little wine and 
wickedness, enjoy life so much more than those 
who do, and they learn so much more, even if they 
do pay dearly for it.” 

In noting these words of Mrs. Weedahl, a little 
timely comment is perhaps here permissible. The 
fact that the habitual use of stimulants degrades 
mankind is none the less true than the statement 
that they promote the development of wisdom. If 
the first effect of wine is to make us wise, it is no 
joke when we say that its second effect is to make 
us otherwise, and this play upon the words will 
give but added emphasis. “ In wine there is 
truth,” but this means the cost of more than one 
bottle, both in money and in tears. The author 
does not expect a total abstainer to appreciate these 
words, and in the interests of true morality, he pre- 
fers without saying more to tax the intelligence of 
others who may question their truth. 

On this occasion, Mrs. Weedahl, as the reader 
now understands her, was, as an habitual user of in- 
toxicants, sufficiently intoxicated to be both honest 


296 The Client 

and wise, and the unfortunate Annette soon and 
sadly realized it. 

“ Well, Mrs. Weedahl,” said Annette, “ I don’t 
object to a little wine or a little wickedness either, 
but it seems that even in living up to such liberal 
ideas I cannot have anything that I want.” 

“ Nonsense, Annette,” said the Jewess. “ Peo- 
ple who don’t get what they want in this world can 
always console themselves with the thought that 
they got what they ought to have. More trouble 
with your love affair ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, a whole lot of trouble.” 

“ I supposed so.” 

4< And I want you to tell me what to do.” 

“ Very well, I’ll do my best. Drunken people, 
you know, sometimes think of things that sober 
people forget.” 

Annette then related in detail all that had hap- 
pened and concealed nothing. She even went so 
far as to intimate the nature of the advice that she 
desired Mrs. Weedahl to give. And as she did so, 
she noted a rather scornful curl of the lip by the 
Jewess, who listened, however, with intense interest, 
and without interruption or comment until Annette 
had finished. 

“Well! well!” said Mrs. Weedahl. “What a 
pair of conscience-stricken fools you are, and I 
don’t know which is the worst. Some people 
wouldn’t be satisfied if they could have August in 
January, and other people are so easily satisfied, 
that in buying a watch they are content if it only 
goes when they do. Why can’t you go on as you 
have in the past, when no one is the wiser. I have 
never believed that Moses and W ebster would agree 


Mrs. Weedahl Advises Annette 297 

as to the true meaning of the Seventh Command- 
ment. But no, you are not satisfied. You are like 
some abnormal people, who live in hotels and who 
getting everything they pay for, and ought to have, 
demand more, more, more, until they sicken of 
everything. Like people who buy automobiles, 
and who must go faster, faster, faster, until they 
break their necks. Some wise man once said, — 
‘ Be good, and you’ll be lonely.’ Cupid has no 
conscience and does not wear pants, and as for sin- 
cerity, I sometimes feel that the only kind we can 
believe in is the voice of the dying man who cries, 
4 God save me.’ The whole world is a world of sin 
and deception, and down in its heart it does not 
choose to be otherwise. But of course, with an 
honest deference to morality, it would rather sin in 
secret. True respectability is a very superficial ele- 
ment of its real character. So much virtue is as- 
sumed in obedience to social and business require- 
ments, that we may well pause before we tear away 
the outer garb of chastity, and reveal what is be- 
neath. Why should we tear it aside ? When a 
thing is so badly soiled that it cannot be cleaned, 
the best thing to do is to paint it black, and give it 
a coat of varnish. We know then that it is black, 
and accept it consistently for what it is worth. The 
trouble with Ambrose is, that when he is with you 
he forgets ; when he is with his wife, he remembers. 
But she knows nothing and is not over-curious. ‘ If 
ignorance is bliss, etc.,' the happiest wives are those 
who are discreet enough to repress a curiosity that 
prompts them to question a husband’s constancy. 

“ You say you cannot live without him; that 
you will commit suicide. Nonsense. You look 


The Client 


298 

ever so much prettier sitting there on that sofa 
drinking champagne than what you would in a 
black box with your eyes shut, and if you want to 
know how much the world will miss you when you 
are gone, just stick a pin in a mill-pond, pull it out 
and look for the hole. Or, you can call this love 
affair off. It is time to do so. I am surprised at 
the prolonged and increasing love that you and 
Ambrose feel for each other. You have been on 
terms of close intimacy for several months. It is 
not usually so. A friend of mine, a woman I have 
known many years, keeps an up-town hotel for 
transient guests. In her parlor hangs a picture. It 
represents the old fable of a dog crossing over the 
foot-bridge of a stream, with a piece of meat in 
his mouth. He sees himself mirrored in the water, 
and imagining the other dog has a better piece of 
meat he grabs for it, and loses his own. My friend 
said that the guests who patronized her hotel, 
especially the men, reminded her so much of this 
dog. ‘ Fire and water are good servants but bad 
masters/ and women and wine, two of God’s 
greatest blessings, are styled as curses by such men 
as these, but by such men only. You should forget 
Ambrose. Marry some respectable fellow and 
settle down. There are hundreds of good men 
who would jump at the chance of getting you. But 
no, Ambrose cannot endure a good wife, and you 
must have what belongs to another woman, and 
there is no more use of my telling you to forget 
Ambrose, as you ought to do, than there would be 
in telling a decent girl that a certain handsome 
young fellow, whom she admired, was bad. Do 
you want me to advise Ambrose to leave his wife, 


Mrs. Weedahl Advises Annette 299 

and run off with you? No, no, a thousand times 
no. There is a limit to everything, even to my 
wickedness, and bad as I am, I would scorn him 
for the rest of his life if he did such a thing. He 
is a good man ; you a good woman, but you are 
both so blinded by love that your don’t know right 
from wrong. Your inclination for each other has 
become a sense of highest duty. Awake from 
your dream. Suffer out your torment, both of you, 
as best you can. Accept your fate as it is thus 
given you by destiny. Plot as you will against the 
happiness of that crippled, but true and loving 
wife, and you will perhaps live long enough to 
realize, as I do, that as the mental power to do evil 
increases, the physical desire declines and is lost in 
the grave, while the power of virtue like hers, lives 
beyond the grave to enlighten and bless the world.” 

Mrs. Weedahl, as she uttered these words, ap- 
peared quite sober, and Annette, with white face 
and tear-dimmed eyes, arose to leave. 

“ Stay with me, and have dinner, Annette,” said 
the Jewess, kindly. “ We will drink wine, and I 
will help you to forget.” 

“ I thank you,” said Annette, “ but I cannot stay. 
I intended to go out to North wood from here, this 
evening, but I shall return home now. The con- 
veyance that brought me from the station is still 
waiting for me;” and then, as she bade the Jewess 
a sad good-bye and fully realized the crushing 
death-blow to her hopes, a deep, intense feeling of 
shame came into her heart, as she felt that her 
mad love had made of her a worse sinner than the 
immoral woman whom she had hoped would aid 
her in crime. 


300 


The Client 


Annette still remained standing before the Jewess, 
whose cold, cutting words seemed to have chilled 
her to the heart, but as hope died within her, she 
seemed clinging to a last straw, as she said, — 

“ Do you think she loves Ambrose very much ? ” 

A genuine expression of curiosity appeared on 
the face of the Jewess, as Annette made this query, 
and then the hard lines of her face softened. 

“You poor unhappy woman,” she said. “I do 
indeed pity you from the bottom of my heart. 
Your love is not a fleeting fancy. It is the one 
all-absorbing passion of your life, and what must be 
its strength and power when it so masters a good 
woman like you, that it would drive you to the 
commission of a dastardly crime. May God pity 
you, Annette, and Ambrose and his wife as well. 
Yes, she loves him. She lives only for him. She 
told the nurse recently that she would rather have 
died, knowing he loved her, than to live and realize 
that he did not, and more than this, Annette, for I 
must turn the knife in your wound. The nurse 
told me that she never saw such devotion as Am- 
brose showed for his wife during her illness. I 
really think that Ambrose loves her, but in the 
blindness of his passion for you he cannot realize 
it. Love has never been properly defined. In the 
human heart it is virtually a fight for supremacy 
between God and the devil, and earthly peace de- 
pends upon the result of the struggle. All the 
rights in this case, legal and moral, are hers, and 
you must bow* to your fate.” 

“ Good-bye, Mrs. Weedahl,” said Annette, ex- 
tending her hand. “ I thank you for this advice. 
You have pointed the way. There is but one 


Mrs. Weedahl Advises Annette 301 

course open to me,” and her gaze lingered mourn- 
fully on the stately mansion and trees of Berylwood, 
as the time-worn conveyance carried her from the 
park and rattled over the road leading to the station. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE VALE OF NORTHWOOD 

The events immediately following Annette’s visit 
to Mrs. Weedahl, are best told in a letter which 
Ambrose received from Adolph two days after the 
interview we have just described. The letter, briefly 
suggestive of alarm in the mind of the clerk, read 
as follows, — 

“ Judge Pierce , 

“ My dear Sir : — 

“ To-day on returning to the office from 
my luncheon, I met Mrs. Caldwell at the foot of the 
stairs. She was coming out as I went in. Though 
she wore a veil I could not help noticing that she 
seemed in great agitation and distress. I asked her 
if she had called to see you. She said, ‘ Yes/ but 
as you were not in she would see you some other 
time. I inquired if she would leave any message. 
She said no, it was nothing important. Her man- 
ner and tone indicated a condition of nervous hys- 
teria, and as she went out, I went up-stairs where 
the old notary Stubbs met me, and he seemed quite 
alarmed. 4 Did you meet Mrs. Caldwell, just now ? ’ 
said he. I said yes. 4 Well/ said he, ‘ she just left 
my office, where she has been for nearly an hour, 
and she acted very much like a crazy woman. She 
had two papers, written instruments of some kind, 


The Vale of Northwood 303 

which she insisted upon having acknowledged with- 
out my reading same. I objected, but finally, at 
her urgent request, I fixed up the papers with our 
signatures, seal, etc. She has got some sad trouble 
on hand,’ said the old man. 

“ I questioned the old notary at length, but could 
learn nothing more, and thought best to promptly 
advise you of the incident. 

“ Sincerely yours, 

“ Adolph.” 

Ambrose had received this letter at the post- 
office, whither he had gone for his mail as usual, 
about five o’clock in the afternoon. He opened 
and read it there, and all the suspense and dire 
forebodings and torture of uncertainty he had felt 
since sending his letter to Annette, culminated at 
that moment in a mad passion and frenzy that 
swept away every other consideration, except a 
desire to see her ; to plead for her forgiveness ; to 
accept any terms she might name, to be the slave 
of her every caprice, if only she would forgive and 
love him as of old. 

“ Why didn’t Adolph follow her to the Richelieu 
and tell her,” he muttered angrily in an effort to 
blame somebody. “ But what could he say ? Why 
didn’t I go to her, instead of sending that letter ? 
Ah ! Annette, God knows I could never have told 
you verbally what I said in the letter. I had to be 
far from you to say what I did. Could I have 
looked into your eyes and suggested the bare pos- 
sibilities of such a thing as parting from you? No, 
no, I’ll go to the Richelieu now, at once. But 
there is no train until eight this evening. Oh, 


304 


The Client 


misery ! I’ll wire her,” and he quickly left the post- 
office for the railroad station, where seizing tele- 
graph blanks and pen he hastily scrawled the fol- 
lowing message : 

“ Will be at the Richelieu late this evening. 

“ Ambrose.” 

“ What is this word ? ” said the operator, as he 
read over the message, “ Will be at the Rickity.” 

“ Richelieu,” said Ambrose, as he spelled the 
word aloud, and looked at the operator, as one 
awakening from a trance, and as he walked away, 
he muttered, “ Good Lord, he can’t read the word 
heaven, when a lawyer writes it,” and he smiled 
grimly at this morbid effort to joke with himself. 

He then walked rapidly to his hotel, planning 
the excuse he should make for going to the city 
that evening, and as he neared the hotel, he noted 
the figure of a woman seated on the otherwise 
deserted porch. As he reached the steps, the 
recognition between the woman and himself was 
mutual, and she arose from her chair, as Ambrose 
with two bounds up the steps reached the porch. 
The woman was Annette’s maid. 

“ Tell, me,” said Ambrose as he seized her arm, 
and almost dragged her around to an obscure 
corner of the porch, “ where is Annette ? Is she 
well ? Is she here ? Where is she ? Is she with 
you ? Why don’t you answer me? ” he said, as he 
gripped her arm until her face showed an ex- 
pression of pain. 

“ She is well,” said the maid, “ but very un- 
happy,” and she drew from the bosom of her dress 


The Vale of Northwood 305 

a note which she gave Ambrose, who without look- 
ing at it, continued to question her fiercely. 

“ Where is she now, is she with you ? Is she 
here ? " 

“ She is here in Northwood,” said the maid, “ but 
not at this hotel. We are stopping over at the 
Mountain House.” 

“ I shall go there right away,” said Ambrose. 
“ Come, we will go over there together,” and again 
taking her by the arm, he started forward. 

“ But you are forgetting your letter, sir,” said the 
maid, pointing to the note he held in his hand. 

“ True,” said Ambrose, “ I forgot,” and he tore 
open the dainty missive and eagerly read, as 
follows, — 


“ Ambrose, we arrived this afternoon, and are 
stopping at the Mountain House. How and when 
can I see you ? 

“ Annette.” 

The knowledge that she was safe; that she was 
at Northwood and located at a comfortable hotel; 
that she had come to him as promised ; that he 
could see her in an hour or so, greatly relieved the 
overwrought feelings of Ambrose, and so allayed his 
anxiety that to the maid, who knew of what had 
transpired, he said in joyous exultation, “ Tell her 
that I love her more than ever; that I am so 
happy to know she is here ; that I got a letter from 
Adolph, which greatly alarmed me. Just tell her 
how much I love her; that I am so glad she is 
here,” said Ambrose, whose senses and words were 


The Client 


306 

strangely muddled and incoherent, in the joyous 
reaction he now felt. 

“ Hadn’t you better write all this ? ” said the 
maid, as she smiled with good-natured significance. 
“ I don’t think I can remember so much.” 

“ True, yes, I will write,” said Ambrose. “ Wait 
here for me a moment,” and he went to the writing 
room and wrote as follows, — 

“ Annette, dearest Annette, you can never know 
the terrible anxiety and suspense I have endured 
the past few days, nor will you ever realize how 
happy you have made me by coming here to-day. 
Meet me this evening at eight o’clock at the 
entrance to the glen. You will find me waiting 
there. 

“ Your lover, 

“ Ambrose.” 

After the maid had gone, Ambrose remained 
seated on the porch alone, as the other guests of the 
hotel were either asleep or dressing for dinner. He 
felt that he needed this opportunity for reflection, 
and a cold realization of what her coming meant to 
him, — for he could only assume that it meant flight 
and consequent disgrace, — restored him in some de- 
gree to his senses. 

“ She has taken me at my word, and decided for 
me,” and he smiled grimly and uneasily, as with a 
restlessness he could not control, he arose from his 
chair, and with bowed head, paced to and fro on the 
porch. “ She will be all mine evermore, but there 
are other things not so delightful that I must also 
consider. She has doubtless considered everything, 


The Vale of Northwood 307 

and her visit to the old notary was for the purpose 
of making some financial provision for her faithful 
maid, whom she perhaps does not wish to take with 
her. Fool that I am. I should have known and 
understood this at once. I said a few days ago that 
we would begin life anew, but I have not made a 
blessed plan as to where and how I will begin. I 
should have anticipated this when I virtually forced 
her to run off with me. Dakota ? Practice in 
divorce courts ? Yes. Other clients similar to 
Annette? No. Andrew Pearson, Attorney at 
Law? Yes, that will do as well as any other name, 
for it sounds like my own. How will Annette like 
it ? She won’t worry about names. Poor soul, she 
said some time ago that she knew what she was, 
but not just who she was. I’ll tell her she cannot 
be Mrs. Pierce, but that I will try hard to make her 
think she is ; and the awakening ? Rubbish — non- 
sense — rot — I must not pause to think. I dare 
not.” 

And Ambrose, affecting an exhilaration which he 
felt needed some sort of a stimulating influence, 
kicked over a porch chair and whistled merrily, as 
he went into the office and surprised the clerk, 
whom he proceeded to entertain with a fusillade of 
laughable stories, jokes and witty sayings, after 
which he went to his room and avoiding conversa- 
tion with his wife, he dressed and went down to 
dinner. 

“ I am going for a walk to the glen, and shall go 
from there to the Glen House to spend the evening 
with some gentlemen friends, who are stopping 
there. We shall perhaps have a game or so, and it 
may be late when I get home,” said Ambrose to his 


The Client 


3°8 

wife, who in company with other ladies was seated 
on the porch. He then lit a cigar and smiling 
pleasantly he went down the steps and walked 
slowly away. 

When out of sight of the hotel, he threw away 
his cigar, and walking rapidly, soon reached the 
appointed place. He consulted his watch and 
found he was nearly half an hour ahead of time. He 
was incapable of remaining in one spot, so he paced 
nervously up and down the road. The twilight 
deepened, and again, for the twentieth time, he 
looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock, and 
through the gloom, he saw the form of a woman 
approaching. No second glance was needed for 
him to recognize her. She wore no hat, but the 
dainty poise of her head ; the graceful undulating 
movement, as she came toward him were instantly 
noted by the impatient lover, as he hastened to 
meet her. 

“ Annette ! ” 

“ Ambrose ! ” 

Annette had never appeared more charming than 
on this occasion. The weather was warm, and she 
was attired in a summer evening costume, the sim- 
plicity of which, in its artistic conception, empha- 
sized, if possible, the beauty that it thinly veiled. 
They were standing together with clasped hands, so 
close that each could feel the tumultuous beating 
of the other's heart, Annette with bowed head and 
downcast eyes. As Ambrose looked up and down 
the road to note if they were observed, the full 
moon, yet low in the horizon, was beginning to shed 
its flood of silvery light upon the dense green shade 
of the forest of tall trees before them. As Ambrose 


The Vale of Northwood 309 

listened he heard voices, and saw in the distance a 
group of people coming toward the glen. 

“ Come,” said he, “ 1 know a place where they 
will not disturb us,” and firmly grasping her hand, 
he led her through the woods to the obscure retreat 
where he had written the letter, and where by the 
mournful destiny that had ever shadowed his life, 
the questions he had asked Annette were now to be 
answered. 

“ Is that the glen and the stream down there ? ” 
she said, as with one knee on the commodious bench 
and her arm on the railing, she withdrew her other 
hand from his grasp and endeavored to peer through 
the gloom to the depths below. Then, as she heard 
the sound of rushing waters, she turned her head, 
and the moonlight through an opening in the foliage 
shone upon her face in which abject terror was 
noted by her lover, and she clung to him fearful 
and trembling. 

“ Oh ! Ambrose, this is the place of my awful 
dream. This forest of trees, the dark ravine, the 
sound of rushing waters, the moonlight, oh ! it is 
the place. I see it all. I see it all. I parted from 
you here. Ambrose, love, I lost you here.” 

“ No, no, Annette. It was only a dream,” said 
Ambrose, as seated on the bench, he clasped her in 
his arms. “ See, you are in my arms, and you shall 
never part from me again. My honor, my heart, my 
soul are yours. I was wild, crazy, mad when I wrote 
you that letter. Forgive me, dear. I resented the del- 
icacy you showed in teaching me a lesson the day 
that you called on me. It nearly broke my heart 
when I deliberately prolonged my own agony and 
yours by refusing to come when you sent your maid 


3 IQ 


The Client 


to my office. But you are in my arms at last, at 
last, Annette, and no earthly power shall ever part 
us again. So laugh at your dream, and for my sake, 
never remember it again.” 

And as he said these words, he crushed in his 
arms her feebly resisting form with the ease and 
strength of a giant, until through panting and gasp- 
ing she remained passive in his embrace. 

4< Ah ! Ambrose, dear, you cause me to forget. I 
did not intend in coming here to-night ” 

“ But you must forget. You shall not remember 
that dream. You shall not talk at all. If that sub- 
ject is to be mentioned again, I will stop it just as I 
did now,” for Ambrose had checked the utterance 
that came from her lips with repeated kisses, little 
realizing what she might have said, if he had allowed 
her to continue. 

Annette sighed submissively, as she answered, 
“ Very well, dear, I will not speak of it again.” 

For hours they thus remained, so absorbed in the 
joy of their meeting, that neither had the courage 
or inclination to think or talk of anything else. 
Each seemed to be subject to the influence of an 
unnatural mood, and while Ambrose avoided, in 
seeming dread, a discussion of their anticipated 
flight, he vainly sought to cheer and quiet Annette, 
who at frequent intervals seemed in a condition of 
nervous hysteria. She wept and laughed in turn, 
and Ambrose could neither understand the cause 
of her tears, nor could he see a reasonable excuse 
for her levity. She pleaded with tears for his 
caresses ; then laughed joyously, and when, with 
endearing words, he sought to console her as in his 
arms she wept piteously, her grief would again sud- 


The Vale of Northwood 31 1 

denly turn to laughter, and so when at length he 
heard in the distance the village clock strike the 
hour of twelve, he became convinced that she badly 
needed quiet and rest, and so quickly deciding not 
to disturb her mind with any matters, the discussion 
of which would distress her, and to postpone them 
until the next day, he said, — 

“ Annette, dear, come. I think I had better take 
you to your hotel. You are not well. This worry 
and anxiety you have endured, and our meeting to- 
night has produced such a reaction on your nerves 
that you are not yourself. Come, let us go,” and 
taking her hand, as she sat with her arm on the 
railing of the bench, and her face concealed as it 
rested on her arm, he gently urged her to accom- 
pany him. 

“ Come, dear, let us meet here again to-morrow 
afternoon at three o'clock,” he said. 

At these words, Annette raised her head, and as 
she looked upon her lover, as he bent over her, the 
moonlight through the foliage threw its flickering 
effects of light and shade upon her face, from which 
Ambrose instinctively recoiled in horror. 

“ Sit down here beside me, Ambrose,” she said. 
“See, I am composed. Am I not? I will talk to 
you. I will be sensible.” 

Then as Ambrose sat beside her, his arm encir- 
cling her waist, she went on, — 

“ Ambrose, dear, you asked me to decide for 
you ; to fly with you, and God forgive me, I had de- 
cided to go. The struggle in my own heart was 
soon ended. It was so sweet to think of being your 
own ; to call you mine. My selfish love caused me 
to forget everything. I covered every page of your 


312 


The Client 


letter with kisses and tears. Then I got myself 
ready to come to you. Mad with my own love, and 
with the joyous realization that you loved me so 
that you would give up everything for me, I started 
to come to you ; to be nothing myself ; to be every- 
thing, anything for you. Ambrose, I stopped at 
Berylwood. I desired an endorsement to the re- 
sponsibility that you placed upon my love. I 
wished that some one older and wiser than I, should 
advise me, and I felt that Mrs. Weedahl, old and im- 
moral, but wise, would, in sympathy for my eager 
wicked love, advise me as I wished to be advised. 
But, dear Ambrose, the woman for whose morality 
you have the most supreme contempt, the woman 
whom you consider conscienceless in the matter of 
virtue, the worst of all that is bad, condemned our 
proposed flight as most disgraceful and criminal. 
She said she would scorn you for the rest of her life, 
if we did such a thing. She said you loved your 
wife, and did not realize it ; that the nurse had told 
her she had never seen such devotion for a wife as 
yours. Now, Ambrose, Mrs. Weedahl is right, and 
if you should leave your wife, grief would kill her ; 
remorse would kill you, and then I should follow 
you both ; thus three lives would be sacrificed where 
one will do. For Ambrose, dearest, I am in the 
way. I am an unhappy obstacle to the honor and 
peace of both you and your wife. It is your duty 
to live, and it is mine to die.” 

“ No, no, Annette, how foolish you talk. You 
shall not die. No, I will come back to you. I will 
be anything you wish ; your dog, your slave. How 
can you speak of death when I love you more than 
all in heaven or on earth. You are ill to-night. 


The Vale of Northwood 313 

Your mind is disturbed, distracted by grief. Do 
you mean that we should part? Has the crime I 
proposed made me an object of disgust to you ? 

Am I by the advice of Mrs. Weedahl too vile for 

? >> 

“ Ambrose, I would accept you if I dared, with 
open arms forever, though you were the vilest crimi- 
nal on earth. No sin you could commit would 
change my love for you, but a greater sacrifice is 
required of me ; a greater duty lies before me. 
You think me ill, hysterical, crazy, perhaps,” and 
again Ambrose noted the unnatural drawn expres- 
sion on her face, and a hunted look of fear in her 
eyes. 

“ Well, Ambrose, let me see, I came here sane. 
I went to the notary. Adolph saw me. Yes, that 
is right. Then I came to you. How pretty I 
looked, and am I pretty now ? This face, this form, 
please you. I have been your mistress, I am your 
bride to-night. Now love me, Ambrose, love me, 
again, again,” and she fell in his arms, as in pity 
and the silent anguish of despair, he clasped her to 
his breast. 

Thus again in prolonged silence, did they con- 
tinue their tryst. The moon was high in the heav- 
ens above ; a squirrel nibbling in the tall trees 
caused a pine cone to fall at their feet. A night 
bird warbled a brief and plaintive ditty, evidently 
calling for his mate. On the far side of the ravine, 
a heavy wagon rumbled over the rocky road bear- 
ing a belated but merry party of young folks, evi- 
dently a straw ride party from one of the hotels. 
They were singing and shouting loudly. Ambrose 
could hear the wagon swaying from side to side, 


The Client 


3H 

groaning beneath its heavy load. It was an old 
wagon, well worn, for the hubs did not fit the axles 
closely, and made an audible knocking sound, as 
the wheels sagged in and out. The laughter and 
singing continued, for the horses were walking, but 
at length a louder rumbling told of increased speed. 
They were going down hill ; the horses were trot- 
ting, and at last they went down to a valley ; the 
rumbling ceased, and the sound of voices died 
away. 

Annette again was speaking. 

“ I am a divorced woman, Ambrose. The world 
has placed its seal of condemnation upon me. Why 
should I live ? In all my life I have known the 
meaning of love for three short months. This is 
perhaps all I should have. With you I have fulfilled 
my destiny. I have justified the reputation that 
society forced upon me, and who in mockery and 
derision cheered me on to my fate. They insisted 
that I was a thing of evil ; that a divorced woman 
could be nothing else. They did not want me to 
be respectable. In being respectable, I should have 
disappointed them. They frowned upon me for 
trying to be honest. They insisted that my at- 
tempt to be virtuous was a pretense, and my only 
crime is that I have loved you, a love that in truth 
and fidelity was heaven-inspired, and God knows I 
could not help it.” 

Annette had released herself from the embrace of 
Ambrose, who with his hand over his eyes, in despair 
was leaning on the arm of the rustic seat. He 
heard Annette weeping, but did not note that she 
was kneeling on the grass until he heard her mur- 
muring incoherently the words of a prayer. This 


The Vale of Northwood 315 

roused him to his senses, and as he turned, her one 
hand grasped his knee, while as the other fell on 
the wooden bench, he heard the crash of broken 
glass, and Annette with uplifted hands turned her 
face toward him imploringly, but no sound came 
from her lips. 

“ Annette, great God, what have you done ? 
Your hand is bleeding,” and taking his handker- 
chief, he essayed to stop the flow of blood. “ What 
was that broken glass ? ” and then noting her dis- 
torted face, a worse horror changed his own, as 
picking up a portion of the glass phial she had 
broken, he realized that she had taken the contents 
to end her life. 

Annette was still kneeling ; still reaching out her 
arms to him, and Ambrose, dumb with grief and 
horror, fell on his knees beside her. As he did so, 
she placed in his hand a crumpled paper. 

“ Read it,” she said. 

Ambrose sprang up and in the moonlight read 
aloud, 

“ I alone am responsible for this. I have taken 
my own life.” 

The paper was duly signed and sealed, “ Elias 
Stubbs, Notary.” 

“ Ah ! Annette ! it was for this that you visited 
the notary,” and again he knelt before her. “ You 
shall not die. I will carry you to the hotel. I will 
save you. You must live. For me, Annette ; for 
my sake.” 

But Annette, already sinking into a stupor, fell 
backward into her lover’s arms, and murmured 
softly — “ It is so dark. This numbness that bears 
me down. I cannot see you, dear. Take me once 


The Client 


316 

more. For your sake — for hers, — for God, — He 

will forgive me, — and you, — love, — kiss me I 

have shown, — shown, — how much I love you. 
Your letter — my maid — she has everything. My 
wedding ring — give it to the sheriff I for- 
give May God forgive.” 

Thus clasped in her lover’s arms, the soul of the 
unhappy Annette was wafted on spirit wings to the 
judgment seat of that God, whose inexorable laws 
and justice she had sacrificed her life to fulfil, and 
as Ambrose remained holding in his arms the dead 
body of this woman, mournfully pleading for her 
sightless eyes to look upon him ; for her lips yet 
warm to speak to him, the mists of the night rose 
from the vale below, and enveloping them in a 
kindly pall, the tears of nature thus mingled with 
those that stood upon the faces of the quick and 
the dead. 


CHAPTER XVII 


CONCLUSION 

Several years have passed away, and Time, the 
only balm which can assuage or heal the grievous 
wounds to love that grim, defiant death hurls at 
those who dispute his merciless demands, had be- 
stowed its kind and mellowing influence upon the 
erring mortal who, as narrated in the foregoing 
pages, had in the weakness of his human heart 
yielded to the influence of his manhood’s only love. 
He does not seek for comfort on earth. He does 
not pray for an inconsistent earthly peace, but 
hopes that beyond the stars an agreeable immor- 
tality awaits him. Should he hope for less ? 
Should he ask from an Almighty Power forgiveness 
for an only and undivided love that God or Nature 
may but once implant and nurture in the soil of 
truth ? Should he ask for pardon, if in accepting 
a theory born of the modern wisdom of mankind, 
he weds himself to misery and then, in obedience 
to the mandates of that same social influence he 
endures to the end ? 

In the little cemetery at Raleigh, but a short dis- 
tance apart are two humble graves. In the early 
summer, roses bloom above them, and amid the 
branches of tall oak and pine-trees the only sounds 
that break the silence and repose are the carols of 
song-birds, or the mournful sighs of summer winds. 
The cemetery is kept in condition of semi-good 
order by a rugged old man, who officiates in the 
dual capacity of church sexton and grave-digger. 


The Client 


318 

It is a fine day of early spring, and the sexton is 
at work in the cemetery. He is cutting down 
brush, trimming trees and rose-bushes, and the 
rasping of his saw is heard as he cuts away some 
good-sized dead limb, which, as it falls to the 
ground, he picks up and throws upon a pile of other 
brush to be set on fire and burned later on. His 
son, an overgrown boy, is helping him, and as the 
boy's attention is attracted to another part of the 
cemetery, he says, 

“ There's the old judge again, pop. What makes 
him come here so often, do you s'pose? Nobody 
else comes here winter and summer like him." 

The old sexton looked in the direction his son 
indicated, and saw the now familiar form of the tall, 
aged-looking man, who had just placed some flow- 
ers upon a grave, and was bending over it in a 
mournful attitude. The aged-looking man was 
Ambrose. His hair was silvery-white. His shoul- 
ders were bowed ; his face was seamed with deep 
lines of grief, and a fixed expression of melancholy 
and careless indifference ever rested there. A 
gentle kindness and native refinement of manner 
marked his conduct to those who appeared kindly- 
disposed toward him, but the attempts of the curi- 
ous to penetrate the mask of reserve he ever wore, 
were fruitless. When such an attempt was made, 
he ingenuously diverted a subject thus inspired by 
curiosity, and his polite affability in leading them 
to talk of something else, entertained kindly-dis- 
posed people and discouraged those who were mor- 
bidly inquisitive. 

“ The judge never forgets his murdered sister," 
said the old man in response to his son’s remark 


Conclusion 


319 


and question. “ But he isn’t an old man, Archy. 
They say he ain’t fifty yet. I’m at least fifteen 
years older than he is.” 

“ Well,” said Archy, “ he looks as if he was about 
eighty. Last New Year’s day he came out here 
when the snow was a foot deep, and brought 
flowers, and say, pop, what’s he always puttin’ 
flowers on the grave of the sheriff’s wife for? See, 
he is standing there now. She wasn’t any relation 
to him, was she ? ” 

“ Not that I know of, Archy,” said the old man. 
“ He can put flowers where he pleases. It’s no 
difference to me. Don’t pile too much brush on 
that heap. It’ll make a hot fire, and would scorch 
all the leaves off that young maple-tree. Make 
another pile of brush over here.” 

And thus do the old man and his son liveinthepres- 
ent, while the white-haired, aged-looking man gazes at 
the spot where his love lies buried, lives in the past. 

We see the sheriff, a drunken loafer, who as a 
miserable hanger-on for political crumbs, with bleary 
eyes and bloated, unshaved face, still walks the 
streets of Raleigh, an object of disgust to those who 
know him, and as well as to those who do not. 

We see Ambrose at home. We note the quiet, 
kindly dignity that characterizes him here as else- 
where. It is evening. He has finished his cigar 
and read his paper through. As he remains silent 
and seemingly absorbed in the contemplation of 
some far away object, his disfigured wife, with loving, 
questioning eyes, approaches him. He extends his 
arms, and she sits upon his knee. Then his arm en- 
circles her waist, and her head rests upon his shoulders. 

“ You do love me, dear, don’t you?” she says. 


3 2 ° 


The Client 


“ Why certainly,” said her husband. 

“ And you have always been true to me?” 

“ Yes, dear,” said Ambrose, looking upward. 

“ And you always will be true, won’t you?” 

“ Always,” said her husband in a distinct tone, 
whose firmness admitted of no question. 

“ I am so happy,” said the wife, and she lingered 
in his arms, saying, asking nothing more. 

And now as the curtain is about to fall on the 
final scenes, we see Mrs. Weedahl in the home of 
her old age at Berylwood. Burned in the crucible 
of sin, she has emerged therefrom purified in a wis- 
dom, the acquisition of which cost her every joy of 
life save the apples of dust she had sought with 
her gold. She has learned life’s lessons, and unlike 
the mortal who becomes wise only when .in his last 
hour he calls on God, she lingers to point the way. 
As a teacher of morality in whom sin has died 
Nature’s death, her better self only remains, and 
the power of her wealth, though dishonestly ac- 
quired by an unseen agency that ever proves the 
existence and justice of God, is now used to succor 
suffering humanity. She knows — she has felt, she 
has learned so much, that in her ripe age she seems 
unerringly to feel the true pulse beats of the world, 
and to penetrate without effort its mask of vanity 
and deceit. As thus in solemn grandeur and state, 
she awaits the final summons, she would seem a 
fitting exponent of the words uttered by Lord 
Woolsey to Cromwell, 

“ Say I taught thee, — 

Say Woolsey — who once trod the ways of glory — 

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor — 

Found thee away out of his wreck to rise in — 

A sure and safe one though the master missed it. 



NOV 


1904 







